Unfinished Business
by SME
Summary: This is based on "The Killer Cowboys" episode in which Pepper's old boyfriend comes to town to rekindle their relationship. I don't like chapters or on-going stories, especially ones that are never finished, so here's mine in one fell swoop. It's rated T for language and adult themes, but considering what is on TV nowadays, it's fairly tame.


**Unfinished Business**

"Hey, Cinderella, if you don't get your prince home, he's going to turn into a pumpkin." Pete gestured with his beer bottle over to Pepper's boyfriend, who was slumped in a corner booth at Vinnie's, nodding in and out of a fitful sleep. Dean Hopkins' wavy blond hair, boyish high school quarterback good looks, and large bank account qualified him for Prince Charming status in just about any woman's book.

Pepper looped her arm through Pete's. "It was a great party, huh? I never expected so many people to show up." What was supposed to be an intimate gathering of Pepper's closest friends to wish her bon voyage on her last day as a Californian had turned into an all-out bash. Almost everyone she knew from the department had shown up, plus several of her civilian friends. A few of her favorite snitches and working girls had braved the hornet's nest of cops to say goodbye, too.

"Everybody loves you, Pep. We're all going to miss you."

Pepper looked over to the bar where Bill Crowley stood drinking beers with Sergeants Garcia and Broyles, two hotdog Homicide cops known for their Paul Bunyonesque tall tales about their exploits on the force. Pepper knew Bill could hardly tolerate either of them, and yet, he had been their avid audience for almost an hour. "Not everyone loves me. Bill's been avoiding me like the plague all week. Tonight's been no different. He'd even rather listen to Garcia and Broyles' whoppers than talk to me."

"You're breaking his heart, Pep," Pete replied solemnly.

She shook her head and sent a rueful smile in Bill's direction. "It might be cracked a little, but it's not broken."

"He wouldn't be tying one on if he was happy."

"Are you gonna hang around for a while?" Pete nodded. "Will you make sure he gets home okay?"

"You bet. Don't worry about him."

"I do, Pete…I will. I'll be thinking about all of you." She stepped into his arms. "I should get going. Gotta get Dean home." Pepper tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Saying goodbye to the three greatest guys in the world was one of the hardest things she'd ever had to do. When Joe and Harriet Styles said their farewells earlier, it was all she could do not to give into the tears she had been fighting with every goodbye. Seeing Joe, that tough cop, with tears in his eyes had almost undone her. "I love you, Pete. You be careful."

He gave her a tight squeeze. "I love you, too. Be happy. And don't be a stranger."

Pepper spotted Bill heading toward the restrooms. "I'm going to give it one last try with Crowley," she called over her shoulder as she trotted off after Bill. She managed to corner him in the hallway leading to the restrooms in the little nook beside the payphone. "Hey, boss, got a minute?"

"I'm not your boss, anymore, Pepper," Bill countered flatly with a slight slur to his words. He tried to get past her, but she shoved him into the corner and blocked his path.

"Yes, you are, Crowley. I'm only going on unpaid leave so I'm still your girl."

"Pepper, you and I both know that this unpaid leave thing is a crock. The only reason you asked for unpaid leave is because you're too chicken to quit. Not yet, anyway. And, the only reason the brass agreed to unpaid leave is because they're afraid of lawsuits. They give policewomen anything they want to keep the ACLU off their asses."

His words stung as they hit home, and she tried to defend her choice to convince herself as much as him. "Bill, I've been working hard the past few years. Worked some tough cases. I deserve some time off."

He snorted, "As if this has anything to do with your workload."

"They allowed me leave. That's all that matters. Besides, the Chief likes me, and he told me I'll always have a place in the department."

"In the department, maybe, but don't kid yourself, sweetheart…You go to New York, see the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building…Paint the town red with Dean. But you better get your fanny back here in short order if you want to keep your spot in the unit. For your information, your replacement's file was waiting for me on my desk when I got back from court this afternoon."

She was already being replaced? "Who?" Pepper was stunned, and her expression showed it.

"Detective Beth Turner." He liked the reaction his little bombshell elicited. If walking away hurt her, so be it.

"Never heard of her."

"She's a rising young star within the department. She's been sent to the old master here to mold her into a masterpiece."

Pepper reached up and touched his cheek. "Just don't teach her everything you taught me, okay?" The moment was charged, and they held each other's gaze while electricity sparked between them.

"Not a chance," he said, his voice husky with emotion. He took her face in his hands and tipped it up to meet his. Bill hadn't laid a hand on her since Dean came to town, and Pepper's heart started to gallop in anticipation. He planted a light kiss on her lips, but pulled away when he felt her try to deepen the kiss.

"Ask me to stay, Bill," she pleaded.

He didn't answer right away; instead, he paused to gather himself before his beer buzz caused him to say something he shouldn't. He dropped his hands from her face. "I can't do that, kid. If you want to go running off with the first guy who asks, it's your decision."

"Bill, Dean is offering me a chance at a home, a family, security…"

"I didn't know those things ranked so high on Sgt. Anderson's list."

"Sgt. Anderson isn't getting any younger. She may not have time to wait for the second guy to ask her."

Bill shrugged, "Well, that's up to Sgt. Anderson." He tried to move past her again. "Look, Pep, I really need to go. Both figuratively and literally."

She held her ground, desperate to prolong this last moment with him. "What about Cheryl? You're going to go see her tomorrow, right?"

He had not yet begun to drink, and the thought of tomorrow's upcoming hangover made him cringe, but he answered, "Of course. I said I'd look out for her, and I will. I'll be there every Saturday just like you were."

"Dean has found a school for her in New York, but I don't know if I should move her. I mean, if I decide to…" She trailed off, not wanting to think about not coming back to Los Angeles. "She's done so well at the Austin School. What do you think?"

Bill blew out a gusty exasperated sigh. "How the hell should I know, Pepper? I don't know a damn thing about kids, much less one like Cheryl. I'll watch over her. It's the best I can do." He looked up to find Dean standing at the end of the hallway watching them. "I think Dean's ready to go." He took her firmly by the shoulders and moved her out of his way. "Take care of yourself, Pepper," he said before disappearing behind the men's room door.

 _ **PWPWPWPWPWPWPWPW**_

Bill sat at the picnic table and watched as Cheryl, Pepper's younger sister, methodically ate the doughnuts he brought her. The ritual never changed. Three bites across the top. Turn. Three more bites. Lick the sugar from each finger starting with the pinkie. Done. He knew Pepper wouldn't approve of his feeding her sister doughnuts, but Pepper isn't here, he thought bitterly, so tough. It had been eleven weeks, four days, and, he checked his watch, three hours and forty-seven minutes since Pepper had moved to New York City with her former lover, Dean Hopkins, but who's counting? Though Bill found spending time alone with Cheryl mildly upsetting, he had willingly taken up the Saturday visits where Pepper left off. Bill was the only person whom Pepper had allowed into Cheryl's autistic world, and he was very honored by this. Not even Dean had been bestowed such an honor, he thought with a touch of smug satisfaction. Yet. The thing that made it hard for him to visit Cheryl was the girl's eyes. She had her older sister's brown eyes. The same exact shape and the same exact shade of dark honey with golden flecks, but where Pepper's eyes sparkled with warmth and life, Cheryl's were dull and unresponsive. Bill couldn't stand Pepper's eyes looking at him and not seeing him. He glanced at his watch again. He wondered what Pepper was doing at this precise moment, eleven weeks, four days, three hours, and forty-nine minutes since she left him behind. Was she missing her sister? Missing him? Was she in bed with Dean?

Bill snapped out of his thoughts of Pepper to find Cheryl staring at the doughnut box. He handed her one of the two remaining strawberry jellies then took the other for himself. "Sorry, kid, I was a million miles away." Not really a million. New York City was closer to three thousand miles away.

Every Saturday since he had taken over Cheryl duty, Bill had shown up at the Austin School for Learning Disabilities with half a dozen doughnuts. Two chocolate covered, two powdered sugar, and two jelly. The doughnuts always made Cheryl smile which is why he never varied what he brought her. She didn't smile at him or even at the doughnuts, but she always smiled vacantly at something known only to her when he set the pink bakery box on the picnic table. On the first visit, Bill wasn't sure what flavor she'd like so he had bought three kinds. To his surprise, she ate all three of them. Thus, began their routine. He brought six doughnuts and a carton of milk. First, they ate the chocolate. Second, the powdered sugar. Then, the jelly. Last, he gave her a Styrofoam cup of milk that she gulped down with barely a breath. Cheryl never reached for the doughnuts or the milk of her own accord. She always waited for Bill to dole them out to her. Two weeks ago, the bakery had only one chocolate left, and he had given it to Cheryl. Amazingly, she noticed he didn't have one so she tore the doughnut into two pieces and gave him half. The next week, he had purposefully bought only one chocolate, but this time, the child didn't share. Still, Bill couldn't wait to tell Pepper about it. He should have told her already, but he wanted to tell her the story in person. He wanted to be the one who saw her eyes light up with happiness over her sister's small but significant accomplishment, not Dean. Bill didn't like to think of himself as a spiteful person, especially where Pep was concerned, and he knew the longer he waited, the less important the news would be, but he didn't have it in him to pick up the phone and call her. Not today. Maybe, next Saturday.

Bill used his handkerchief to scrub at the sticky mixture of chocolate, sugar, and red goo on Cheryl's face. She squirmed like any child, but didn't verbally protest. "Nothing to this father stuff," he commented as he jammed the handkerchief back into his pocket. He opened the newspaper he brought with him and turned to the sports section. "Now, let's see how the Lakers did yesterday." Pepper often read fairy tales when she visited, but Bill felt ridiculous reading stories about princesses and giants so he read Cheryl the newspaper, skipping over anything distressing. Princesses or Lakers or the City Council, she didn't seem to mind one way or the other. After a couple of hours, Bill turned her back over to her one of her caretakers, beaming with pride upon being complimented for how calming an influence he was on the girl. He hoped the good word of his babysitting skills would make it back to Pepper.

After visiting Cheryl, it was now his habit to go back to the office and work. His love life had gone to hell, but his paperwork was in the best shape of his career. Even the brass had noticed his newfound efficiency. Did they give commendations for outstanding paperwork? Well, the brass shouldn't get used to it. Once he got Sgt. Pepper Anderson out of his system, which would be soon, Sgt. William Crowley would be back on the prowl. Soon, he would have something better to do with his Saturdays than work. Soon.

After the office, Bill swung by his apartment to call Pepper with his Cheryl report. If he timed it just right, Pepper and Dean would be out, and he'd be able to leave a message with the housekeeper, Lupita, as to how the visit went. Bill wondered what the hell Dean and Pepper found to do every Saturday night. But, Bill reminded himself, he and Pepper had had no trouble finding things to occupy their time, and there must be even more stuff to do in the Big Apple. Dean probably liked Broadway musicals. He looked like a musical fan to Bill. Hell, maybe Pepper was avoiding him, too. Maybe, she had left standing orders with Lupita to tell him she was out when he called.

Bill knew Pepper was in constant contact with Cheryl's school and didn't really need his updates, but he also knew she wanted to hear it from him that her sister was indeed okay, and he couldn't deny her this. He had agreed to keep an eye on Cheryl because he knew it would make Pepper's transition to New York easier. He would do anything to make Pepper happy, even if it meant losing her. All she had to do was ask. He would visit Cheryl every Saturday for the rest of his life if he had to. He missed Pepper so damn much, but it hurt to hear her voice. It hurt not hearing her voice. It was a tossup as to which hurt more, but, he eventually decided, hearing her voice and not hearing her say she was coming home hurt the most. So after Pepper had taken a job with the NYPD about a month into her stay, Bill decided it was best for his mental health to limit, if not end, direct contact with her. He wanted to somehow manage to love her and support her, but hopefully, never see her again, especially if she ended up as Mrs. Dean Hopkins. Over the past couple of months, he had actually become pretty adept at avoiding her. He had even sprung for an answering machine so he could screen his calls at night. At work, line five was his direct line for incoming calls outside the department, and he had a pretty good idea about when her shift ended so he mostly didn't answer line five after 3 p.m. or any time he felt it in his bones it was Pepper calling. This had led to complaints, of course, but he was the Prince of Paperwork so one offset the other. Besides, her calls had been petering out. Sometimes, getting what you want hurt, too.

Another new habit Bill had acquired in Pepper's absence was spending his Saturday night's as a barfly. Well, maybe being found at a bar on a Saturday night or any night was not so unusual, but he had deemed it necessary to find a new watering hole. Vinnie's was Pepper's place, his and Pepper's and the gang's place, and it wasn't the same without her. There were too many memories and too many people asking after her. You'd think after eleven weeks, four days, and, he resisted the temptation to look at his watch to count the hours and minutes…he had to stop this, he was getting weird…everybody who had ever met Pepper would know she had rekindled her relationship with an old flame and was now living it up in New York City on the arm of a wealthy hotshot former test pilot. But no, invariably somebody asked about her. _How's Pep? Where's Pepper keeping herself these days? Think she'll ever be back?_ _Hey, Crowley, how ya getting along without Pepper?_

Bill's new hangout was a dump aptly named The Hole. As bars go, it didn't have much ambience, but the beer was ice cold and he liked the gritty down and dirty atmosphere. But mostly, The Hole was appealing because there was almost no chance of meeting anyone who knew Pepper unless he or she happened to be of the criminally minded sort, and those people seldom wanted to shoot the breeze with a cop over a beer. If he kept hanging around The Hole, a name change just might be in order. Bill was cleaning up the place quite nicely whether the owner appreciated it or not. So far, he had busted three drug dealers, six hookers, and broken up so many brawls he had lost count. He'd had the black eyes and bruised ribs to show for it. A few weeks ago, he'd gotten cut by a boozed up biker twice his size and had to have stitches in his thigh. Bill enjoyed the scraps and didn't mind the poundings. He gave as good as he got. Sadistically, he liked to pretend he was pounding Dean. It wasn't as good as the real thing, but he'd have to go to New York City to pound on the real thing, and he hoped to never set foot there again. Not to mention the fact that Pepper would pound him if he dared to touch a hair on Dean's head. So, he had to content himself with ridding The Hole of its criminal element.

 _ **PWPWPWPWPWPWPWPW**_

Sunday morning, Bill woke up with a moan. His head felt as big as the Goodyear blimp, and the sunlight streaming in through the windows nearly blinded him. He risked cracking one eye to get a look at the time. 12:23 p.m. He had slept half the day away. Last night had been a slow night for crime fighting at The Hole, and he had filled his time with one or maybe five too many shots of tequila. He rubbed his stubbly cheeks and gritty eyes. This had to stop. He didn't want to become the cliché of a lonely has-been cop with nothing in his life except a badge and a bottle of booze. This Saturday would be different he vowed. He'd make a date; take some nice lady out to dinner. Maybe catch a movie. This Saturday he was going to act like a regular person for a change. Irene…Irene What's-Her-Name, who worked in Stolen Property, had been after him for ages. Well, this Saturday, he would finally make Irene's dream come true. He smiled at the memory of how Irene's shameless flirting used to get under Pepper's skin. It had been nice for the shoe to be on the other foot for a change. Far more often, he had to standby as men drooled over Pepper.

Pepper. Damn. Couldn't he go five minutes without thinking of her? Bill reached over to the nightstand and tenderly, almost reverently, picked up a Hermès scarf that belonged to her and brought it to his face. One day about a year ago, they needed to kill some time before their shift on a stakeout so Pepper had dragged him into little boutique that specialized in vintage clothing. She fell in love with the scarf, and its various shades of pink looked fabulous against her sun kissed skin, but she didn't buy it. Bill loved her in anything pink. Pink reminded him of the insanely sexy pink teddy she wore from time to time to either reward him for being a really good boy or to tease him to distraction. Not that she needed any help in the sexy department; Pepper naked in his bed was all he needed. Racy lingerie was welcome, but it was gilding the lily. Thinking the scarf would be a nice surprise and hoping it would warrant breaking out the pink teddy, Bill went back to the store the next day to buy it for her. He nearly balked when the clerk informed him the damned thing cost $250. Now, he understood why she hadn't bought it. Dropping $250 on a used scarf was outrageous and he'd have to eat bologna for dinner for a month, but he knew it would knock Pepper's socks off so he bought it for her. Sure enough, she had been delighted with it, and she had worn it often – around her neck, in her hair, as a belt. Bill breathed in the scents of the scarf where the fragrance of her perfume, her hair, her skin lingered still. He was a little hurt that she had left it behind, but he was oh, so thankful to have this remembrance of her.

When Pepper left, she had given him charge of her apartment, and for a while, Bill had slept there most of the time. He took refuge in the smell of her on the sheets and of her perfume in the air, but soon enough, the place started to smell more like him than her. Eventually, she had had the water and the electricity turned off so there wasn't much reason for him to go around there anymore. He knew it was only a matter of time until she dropped her lease. Would she wait until she married Dean? Were they engaged yet? He lived in fear of finding a wedding invitation in the mail. Would she call him with the big news? Would she wait until she got him on the phone or would she leave a message on the machine? Or send the news by Pete or Joe? Everything in Bill's life from his mail to his telephone to his friends had turned into a mine field. He put Pepper's scarf back on the nightstand, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

 _ **PWPWPWPWPWPWPWPW**_

Late Monday morning, Bill strode into the office and the first thing he noticed was Pepper's smoky laugh drifting on the air. For an excruciatingly painful hopeful moment, he thought she was there, but it turned out to be only her voice floating from Pete's speakerphone. Everyone in the office, except Detective Turner, was gathered around Pete's desk talking and laughing with Pepper.

Pepper was in a telephone booth with the phone jammed into one ear and her index finger in the other, trying to hear over the City's street noise. Pete, Joe, and her other friends from the office were all talking at once, asking her questions and cracking jokes. In the background, telephones were ringing and a lone typewriter was clacking. She loved hearing the sounds of home, but it was Bill's voice she hoped to pick out from among throng. They hadn't spoken in weeks and Pepper craved him in more ways than one. When she couldn't bear the not knowing any longer, she asked, "Pete, is Crowley around?"

"No, Pep, he's been in the Chief's office all morn…wait, here he comes…Hey, Bill, Pepper's on the phone. She wants to talk to you." Pete watched with amazement as Bill marched past without acknowledging him or Pepper. "Uh, Pep, Bill sends his love, but he's got an important call to make."

Pepper's heart sank. Didn't she rate at least one lousy minute of his time?

Wanting no part of whatever Pepper had to say and desperately needing to feed his caffeine addiction, Bill made a beeline for the office coffee pot where he rushed to pour himself a cup of coffee and get safely inside his office before Pete had a chance to corner him into talking to Pepper. Like his mother always warned him, haste made waste and he spilled the last of the cream down the front of his jeans. He spewed a lurid stream of obscenities he learned while in the military and saved for use on special occasions when regular cursing just wasn't enough and sloshed back to his office, trailing coffee as he went. With a slam of his door, he blocked out the noise of the crowd. Pepper's probably calling to say she's getting married. Why else would she have the whole damn office tied up in the middle of the morning?

Almost shaking with rage, Bill wanted to put his fist through the wall or throw a chair through the window, but since these were not viable options if he wanted to stay gainfully employed, he forced himself to sit very still at his desk and drink his coffee. Beth Turner's coffee. Pepper's replacement's coffee. It was great coffee. The one thing, the _only_ thing that had improved since Pepper left was the coffee. Beth bought the coffee on her own dime, a Hawaiian blend that must cost three times more than Maxwell House and ten times more than the industrial sludge the department provided. Why Beth would spend her hard earned money to provide coffee for the entire office was a mystery to him, but who was he to argue with her?

Bill had been in the Chief's office since 7:30 this morning, taking it on the chin while the Chief let Narcotics stomp all over the CCU's prostitution investigation. Now to top it all off, Pepper was on the phone spreading the glad tidings of her wedding. They can all go to hell Bill thought as he toyed with the idea of taking the supervisor's job he'd recently been offered in Bunko. Sure, it would be boring as hell and he'd be stuck behind a desk pushing paper, but it came with a bump in pay, less political interference, and almost no chance of getting his head blown off by a perp who had decided to go down swinging. Best of all, he wouldn't have to sit at this desk anymore and watch Detective Beth Turner sit at Pepper's desk. He'd never get used to having someone else in Pepper's spot. Adding insult to injury, Beth bore a passing resemblance to Pepper. They were about the same height and build, and Beth had mid-length blonde hair styled similar to Pepper's. Sometimes, when Beth had her back to him and the day had been long enough and hard enough for Bill's mind to be a little fuzzy, he would imagine she was Pepper. Then, she would turn and he saw her face, and her eyes were blue and her smile was all wrong, and damn it, she just wasn't pretty enough, and when she spoke her voice was too high, and he hated Beth for not being Pepper. Beth was green, but she was going to be a good cop. He was certain Beth was a good person, and she made a good cup of coffee. Still, with all the good things about her, he hated her. No, Bill realized, he didn't hate Beth. He hated the _idea_ of Beth. The brass had sent Beth to him as Pepper's replacement. Didn't they know Pepper was irreplaceable?

Bill saw through the blinds that the party at Pete's desk had finally broken up so he opened his door and barked, "Styles, Royster, Turner. In here, now."

As usual, eager beaver Beth was the first one inside. "What's up, boss?" she asked enthusiastically, her notebook and pen always at the ready in case she needed to take notes.

Pepper used to call him boss sometimes. He wished Beth wouldn't. "Let Joe and Pete get in here first," he responded irritably. Did she always have to be so damn energetic?

The duo bounded through the door with big grins on their faces. "Bill, guess what? Pepper's getting…" Bill's heart stood still until he realized Joe hadn't used the words engaged or married. "kicked up to Ad Vice."

"Ad Vice?" Bill asked, his head jerking up in surprise. However relieved he was to learn Pep's call had nothing to do with marriage; he was not pleased about her promotion. The idea of her out on the streets playing at being a prostitute without him there to protect her made his stomach churn. It was only a matter of time before she got carved up by a hopped up john or vicious pimp.

"Yeah, she's totally excited," Pete chimed in. "She's sick of cooling her jets at a dispatch desk."

"An officer of Sgt. Anderson's experience has been stuck in Dispatch?" Beth asked incredulously. She was well aware of the legendary Sgt. Pepper Anderson. In fact, it was her goal to someday be another Sgt. Pepper Anderson. It was why she had campaigned so hard to be transferred to the CCU when she heard Anderson was going on leave.

Bill grunted with derision. "New York's finest don't know Sgt. Anderson from a hole in the wall. She had to take what she could get in order to get her foot in the door with the NYPD. Now, she's taking another giant step backward to Ad Vice, impersonating hookers and gun molls again." He jabbed his index finger in Beth's direction. "Remember this, Beth, if you ever decide to quit your job so you can go running after an old boyfriend in a strange city. You just might have to rebuild your career brick by brick. Make sure it's worth it. Get my message?"

"If you'll remember, William," Joe said with a smirk, "Pepper had to play her fair share of hookers and gun molls while working here in the CCU."

"Yeah, well, winter is coming on. I hope she freezes her tight little ass off…Listen, I didn't call you guys in here to talk about Sgt. Anderson's illustrious career."

Interest lit up Pete's gentle blue eyes. "Oh, yeah, why did ya call us in here?"

Bill glanced up at the clock on the wall. "In seventy-five minutes, we're meeting up with a team from Ad Narc to go bust Gabriel Santiago."

"There's been a break in the case?" Joe asked with anticipation.

"Not ours." Joe, Pete, and Beth looked at him blankly. "Gentlemen and," Bill nodded at Beth, "lady, it seems our fine department has been working at cross purposes again. Unbeknownst to me, while we've been busting our butts trying to nail Santiago for smuggling young women across the Mexican border to be sold to our friendly neighborhood passion pit operators masquerading as legit housekeeping services, Narcotics has been looking at him for smuggling heroin. As you know, thanks to his American mother's money, he has managed to become a prominent business man despite rumors of sketchy underworld connections. Turns out, he has a younger half-brother by his Mexican father who, unlike Gabriel, doesn't have American citizenship and is basically your common run of the mill hood. This brother, Juan Santiago, is Gabriel's heroin supplier out of Mexico. Gabriel gets the junk from Juan and sells it to a local distributor who has a network of drug dealers on the street. Trouble is, at least for the Santiagos, one of Juan's crew was arrested last night for assault and battery down in a border town. The guy is an American citizen who already has worse legal trouble of his own in Mexico. He sang like a canary in exchange for the assurance he will not be extradited back to Mexico to face the Mariachi band down there. So, to make a long story short, Narcotics found out early this morning that Gabriel Santiago is putting together a deal with a new distributor who wants more heroin than he normally handles. According to the canary, this afternoon, Santiago will be at a house out in Yellow Canyon that serves as his drug warehouse. There are drugs on the premises, and his gang will be off meeting a small plane that will be carrying both heroin and his brother, Juan. The narcs are so excited they are about to wet their pants."

"Why is this bad?" Beth asked.

Joe answered, "It's bad, Beth, because if he gets busted on drug charges, we'll lose our chance to find out who the mastermind of the prostitution operation is on this end. We know Santiago only supplies the women. He's not the one placing them in their quote/unquote jobs. Even if Santiago is taken out of the equation, it won't take long for our local piece of scum to find a new body supplier."

"Can't we deal with him? Is there is a possibility of reducing the drug trafficking charges if he gives up his local connection…" Beth stopped talking when she noticed the men staring at her like she was insane.

Bill resisted the urge to snap at her. Beth was still young, and it wasn't her fault for not yet understanding how the game was played. Nor was it her fault for not being Pepper Anderson. However, it was not lost on him that if Pepper was still on the team, they would have busted Santiago for prostitution a long time ago. Hell, they would have nailed him on the drug charges, too, and he wouldn't have had to look like a clueless idiot this morning in the Chief's office while the Chief chewed him out for being a clueless idiot. Or to quote the Chief exactly, _a clueless overrated dumb cop who couldn't investigate his way out of a paper bag._ Apparently, the Chief wasn't aware Sgt. William Crowley was the crowned Prince of Paperwork or he surely wouldn't have been so hostile. The Chief had also used the thinly veiled threat of budget cuts as a motivator for Bill to whip the CCU back into shape. What was the point of having a special unit if even overworked, overextended Ad Narc could out do the CCU? Not wanting to discourage Joe, Pete, and Beth any more than he had already, Bill intentionally kept this part of the meeting to himself. The Criminal Conspiracy Unit was supposed to be an elite team of investigators, and the Chief was not pleased the CCU hadn't discovered the drug smuggling operation during their investigation. Was it Bill's fault that both he and Pete had been tied up in court on and off for weeks? Was it his fault Santiago's right hand man knew Joe was a cop from a previous arrest, making Joe of limited use in the investigation? Most importantly, was it his fault that his best investigator had left? Maybe if the Chief hadn't allowed Pepper leave, she would have thought twice before traipsing off after Dean Hopkins. Bill could have sent Pepper in undercover to get close to Santiago. Pepper would have uncovered all of Santiago's dirty secrets. Beth just wasn't ready.

"Turner, we don't have enough evidence to make the prostitution charges stick so we don't have anything to play let's make a deal with. I know it, the DA knows it, and Santiago and his lawyers would know it. Ad Narc has no reason to reduce their charges to help us out. Believe me, I just spent the past two hours trying to convince them. They refused, and the Chief is on their side."

"What about the feds, Sergeant? Can't they help?"

"They don't give a damn. Santiago is small potatoes to them. If he isn't stopped, he will eventually get big enough to warrant attention from the feds, but right now, he's still penny-ante in their book. They have much bigger fish to fry." Bill wadded up a paper cup and threw it across the room. It narrowly missed Pete who almost piped up with a wiseass remark, but he thought better of it given the steam coming out of Crowley's ears.

"So what's next?" Joe asked.

"Well, since I cried so hard this morning when the Chief broke the news about our case getting flushed down the toilet, we have been invited to participate in the Santiago arrest. Lt. Cranston is putting a team together from Narcotics, including us and a few uniforms."

Joe stepped over to Bill and put his hand on Bill's shoulder. "Hey, man, can't they wait a little while longer? I know we're close. We're so close. And if we could bust him for drugs _and_ prostitution maybe…"

Crowley shook his head. "Narcotics is in the same boat as us in that Santiago rarely gets his hands dirty with the day-to-day details of the drug smuggling operation. You know, it's the same thing with the prostitute smuggling. But, the drug deal he is putting together now is his biggest one to date. He and Juan are meeting today to make sure everything is as it should be in order to impress their new buyer. If Narcotics is lucky, they'll get both Santiago brothers and force them to give up the distributors they're supplying. According to the tip, most of their crew will be meeting and protecting the incoming plane, leaving Gabriel and the house vulnerable. It's now or never. Or at least, now or not anytime soon. Narcotics is right about that. The chance to hit Santiago while he's got his pants down comes around about as often as Haley's comet. And if they get Juan and the distributors, too, well, I guess, it won't be such a bad bargain, but it sure shoots our case all to hell."

Pete, Joe, and Beth stared at him, disappointment written all over their faces. Bill slapped his desk. "Look, I'm sorry, guys, but Santiago has been yanked out of my hands. Most of the big wheels over in Narcotics will be hitting the plane. The Chief is letting us in on the arrest because we're available warm bodies."

"But, Sgt. Crowley," Beth whined, "what about all those innocent Mexican women being sold into prostitution? They think they're getting a chance to make a new start in the United States only to find out they have been sold into white slavery. Some of them are only fifteen or sixteen years old."

"Turner, there's nothing I can do. It's all politics. Thanks to some evidentiary screw ups by the department, the DA has lost a couple of big cases lately, and a big fat drug bust would give everyone some much needed good press right now. The public likes drug busts better than prostitution busts, anyway. Prostitution hits too close to home. If your brother-in-law gets caught dallying at a massage parlor, it embarrasses the whole family, but if some dirtbag drug dealer gets arrested, well, that's cleaning up the streets. Drugs trump prostitution, Beth. That's the way it's always been. Besides, a bird in hand is worth two in the bush."

The devastated expression on Beth's face and her trembling bottom lip pointed toward imminent tears. The three men were at a loss. If it had been Pepper, any one of them would have felt comfortable giving her a hug to cheer her up or telling a dirty joke to get her laughing. More likely, Pete and Joe would have quietly slipped away, leaving Crowley to console her. Beth was different. None of them knew her well enough to know what to do to stop the dam from breaking. Their eyes darted around the room at each other until Bill focused in on Pete. Pete with his serene demeanor and unlimited patience was unparalleled at calming down highly strung females. Bill met his eyes and nodded toward Beth, but Pete, suddenly becoming fascinated by a crack in the floor, pretended not to notice.

After giving the rebellious investigator the evil eye, Bill stepped over to Beth and gave her a few awkward pats on the back. "Uh, listen, Beth, when we get back from arresting Santiago, I promise, we'll put our heads together and come up with a new plan to break up the prostitution ring." Her face lit up, and she mooned over him like he was Dirty Harry, Robert Redford, and Donny Osmond all rolled into one. After having his heart ripped out by Pepper, getting the hero's treatment by a pretty young thing like Beth was a pure pleasure. He circled his arm around her and gave her a quick hug, eliciting an even moonier grin from her. He playfully shoved her toward Pete and Joe. They pulled her in between them and slung their arms around her shoulders in a display of camaraderie. For the first time since joining the unit, Beth felt like one of the boys. As Bill gazed at them, he started to think things may just work out after all. Pete and Joe were both highly skilled investigators, and there was no reason to believe Beth wouldn't be as good as Pepper someday. The dynamics of the unit would have to change, but Bill was confident he could rebuild it. Unfortunately, this confidence was fleeting because out of the blue, Pepper's glaring absence hit him like a sucker punch to the jaw. It should be Pepper standing there with Pete and Joe, not Beth. It didn't matter what they were all capable of, Bill wanted Pepper back, at the office and in his bed. Especially in his bed. Knowing he couldn't keep wallowing in his despair over Pepper forever, Bill made a silent vow to work with what he had. If he couldn't salvage his personal life, he could damn well salvage the CCU. He clapped his hands to get their full attention. "Okay, go get yourselves together. It'll be show time soon."

 _ **PWPWPWPWPWPWPWPW**_

Bill rocked on his heels as he waited for Cranston's car to pull into the driveway in front of Santiago's makeshift warehouse. He was nervous, and nervous was never a good omen for him. Nine times out of ten it meant a fiasco was in the making. Bill was always tense before a showdown, but nervous, especially nerves like this that had the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, meant the plan needed to be reassessed. The problem was, it wasn't his plan to reassess. No, this was Cranston's half-assed plan that Cranston had changed no less than three times in the time it took to drive out here. Bill hoped everyone was clear on what the hell they were expected to do. He surveyed the house from the tree line he was hiding in. It seemed pretty quiet. Odds were, nobody was home and this was a wild goose chase. But if Santiago was in there and if there was heroin on the premises…Santiago had a fairly small operation, but Cranston was naive to think he wouldn't be well protected, and the thin woods they had just marched through like Vietnamese guerrillas, on Cranston's orders, did not provide enough cover to prevent them from being seen by anyone in the house smart enough to look out the window. Cranston had ordered the black and whites to stay at the bottom of the hill to block the road. The police van most of them had ridden in was parked out of sight and was too far away to reach in a hurry. There was probably another way out, and if so, there would be no stopping Santiago if he tried to run. Bill glanced over at Beth. She stood staring at the house as if she could look hard enough, she'd be able to see through the walls. At least Lt. Cranston had agreed to his request to keep her to the rear. Now, Bill wished he had made her stay with the van.

Just because Santiago was supposed to be a legitimate businessman, didn't mean he wasn't dangerous. If Crowley had been running the show, every officer would have driven up in his own car and the black and whites would be right along with them. He'd make Santiago think he was being swarmed by an entire army. If they didn't surrender immediately, he'd use tear gas to force them out. Instead, Cranston and his partner, Lt. Young, were the only officers arriving by car. They were going to stroll up to the front door as if they were selling Girl Scout cookies, knock, and politely ask them to come out with their hands up. If this didn't work, they were going to raid the house without any idea how many people were inside and having completely lost the element of surprise. The plan was so ludicrous Crowley would have laughed if his entire team's lives were not on the line. Bill watched as the three officers assigned to cover the back of the house moved into position. Royster and Styles were stationed on the right side of the house, and he couldn't see them. He was to the left. Ordinarily, Pepper would have been with him, and now, Beth, but he wasn't ready for Beth to be in the thick of things just yet so she had been ordered to stay back and not approach the house. Beth was furious with him. His Donny Osmond status hadn't lasted long at all.

Finally, an unmarked police car pulled up next to the house. Cranston and Young got out, and, with Young trailing a few feet behind Cranston, cautiously made their way toward the door. Bill had to hand it to them; the men had balls. He was grateful he wasn't the one expected to approach the house, not with the way the hairs on his neck were standing at attention. Something, Bill was convinced, was about to go wrong. Before Cranston reached the door, the calm was shattered when Beth went running toward the house yelling something about a gun just as shots were fired and Cranston went down like rag doll. Simultaneously, Bill saw what Beth was trying to tell them; there were men with guns at the windows. To his horror, Beth went down, too, as the entire house exploded with gunfire. Bill saw a gunman turn his attention to Beth. He couldn't help her from his current position and had no choice but to break into the open and fire. Bill saw another shooter turn in his direction, and he knew he was going to be hit. He couldn't protect both himself and Beth. Crowley's bullets stopped Beth's would-be assassin, but there was nobody there to stop Bill's, and he was shot three times. His body bucked as the force of the bullets propelled him backward. Joe saw Bill go down and he quickly belly crawled through the gun battle to him, but he ran out of cover ten feet away. The ten feet may as well have been ten miles. Styles screamed at Crowley to hang on, firing and reloading to keep Bill and Beth covered. Bill lay motionless, staring wild-eyed at Joe, awash in his own blood. Miraculously, Young made it back to the car and radioed the black and whites to get up to the house. With the extra firepower, Santiago's gang was ultimately subdued, but not before the gunmen who were left alive got away.

Knowing something had to be done, Joe risked going to Bill even before the final shots rang out. "Oh, god, William," he cried as he tore off his jacket and pressed it to Bill's wounds.

Beth, ears ringing from the gunshots and covered in grass stains and dirt but otherwise unharmed, crawled over to the two men on her hands and knees. Her trembling legs wouldn't hold her up, and though the fight was over, she had the overwhelming urge to hide. The sight of Sgt. Crowley, her mentor, the man who had taught her more about police work in a few weeks than everyone else over all the years put together, nearly caused her to throw up, but she summoned her courage and pulled him across her lap. "Sgt. Crowley, you're going to be okay," she cooed as she cradled him like a child. "Stay with us, alright? Stay with us."

Bill's body shuddered and blood spilled out of his mouth in grotesque rivulets of bright crimson. With bloody fingertips, he reached up to touch Beth's face. "Pepper, are you okay?" He began to writhe in her arms, trying to get a better view of her. "Pep, are you okay?"

Beth frantically looked to Joe for direction. "Don't worry, Crowley, Pepper's just fine," Joe reassured him. "Tell him you're okay and keep him still," Joe ordered her under his breath.

"I'm…I'm fine, Bill. Not a scratch." She tightened her hold on him and leaned down to kiss his forehead.

"I love you, Pepper," Bill said with surprising clarity for someone in such great pain. "I love you, kid."

Beth had heard office gossip about Sgt. Crowley and Sgt. Anderson having something on the side, but she assumed either the rumors were false or their relationship had been strictly casual. Sgt. Anderson wouldn't have left town if she and Sgt. Crowley were serious, would she? Beth turned to Joe for direction again, but he was vainly shouting for an ambulance that wasn't there and hadn't heard Crowley's declaration. Her mind raced as she tried to come up with an appropriate response. She had no way of knowing if exchanging I love yous was normal operating procedure for the two sergeants. Beth quickly decided she wasn't going to let Sgt. Crowley die there in the dirt without hearing Pepper's I love you _._ "I love you, too, Bill," she said earnestly, "very much."

Bill calmed and smiled up at her for a second until a spasm of red hot pain hit him like a thunderbolt. He clawed at her until he found her hand. He held it so tightly Beth thought her bones would snap. "Pep, I don't want to die. Help me, Pep…I don't want to die."

Tears rolled down Beth's face and dropped into Bill's hair. She smoothed his hair and kissed him again. "You're not going to die, sweetie. You're going to be just fine."

Pete knelt down at their side. "Jesus!" he exclaimed when he saw the extent of Crowley's wounds. His eyes connected with Joe's for an instant of shared unspoken panic, then both men went back to the business of keeping Bill alive. Pete took off his shirt and tried to help Joe stop the bleeding. "Ambulances are on the way. Cranston's dead. Two others down."

"Damn it, we should've had the ambulances standing by." Joe felt Bill's warm blood soaking his hands, and he pressed his jacket even harder into his wounds. "Help is on the way, William; don't you die on us. Don't you die."

 _ **PWPWPWPWPWPWPWPW**_

Dean flicked open the red velvet ring box and took out the diamond solitaire inside. He had spent days scouring the City's jewelry stores until he found the perfect one for Pepper. She had always had a soft spot for nice jewelry, especially diamonds, but none of her various careers paid well enough to afford her such luxuries. He was more than willing to help Pepper scratch her itch. Once they were married, there would be many more dazzling pieces to fill her jewelry box. A huge grin spread over Dean's face. He could hardly wait to get started spending the rest of his life making Pepper happy. The ring he'd finally settled on was meant to impress, and he was confident she was going to be crazy about it. It had been burning a hole in his pocket for two days now, but so far, he hadn't found the right time to give it to her. He wanted to surprise her with the ring, but he couldn't decide how. A friend of his surprised his girlfriend by dropping her ring into her champagne flute when she wasn't looking. Pepper would probably get a kick out of something like that. Maybe, he'd try it tonight. They were going out to celebrate her new job with Vice. With any luck, before the evening was over, they'd have another reason to celebrate. Dean wanted Pepper to give up her career as a cop, but he didn't dare ask her to, and in truth, he was glad she had gotten the promotion. The job as a dispatch officer was obviously boring her, and he was worried she would want to go back to her old job in Los Angeles. God, he detested hearing her stories about the CCU. Those three guys, especially Bill Crowley, knew Pepper in ways he could never hope to know her, but Dean knew he could make her happy in ways Crowley couldn't. He and Pepper had agreed to keep their relationship informal, without labels, but they had been living together almost three months now. Her career with the NYPD was gaining ground and his business interests were thriving. It was all starting to come together for them, and Dean was ready to make things permanent. He hoped Pepper felt the same way.

Dean heard Lupita's soft knock at the bedroom door. He'd been expecting it. The telephone had just rung, and he was hoping it wasn't business. He had been working long hours lately managing his charter airline service and getting his experimental aircraft design company off the ground, and he didn't want anything to interfere with tonight. Before allowing Lupita entrance, he put the ring back into the box and slipped it into his pocket.

"Mr. Dean, Ms. Pepper has a phone call."

Surprised the call was for Pepper instead of him, he asked, "Do you know who it is, Lupita?"

"A Mr. Royster, sir. He's a friend from Los Angeles. He says it's important for him to speak with Ms. Pepper."

Dean glanced back over his shoulder. The bathroom door was partially open. He could hear water gurgling in the whirlpool and smell Pepper's rose scented bath salts. He gently herded Lupita out of the bedroom and closed the door behind them. "Tell Mr. Royster Pepper will call him tomorrow."

"But it sounds urgent."

He pulled the box out of his pocket and wiggled it in front of her. "Go on, Lupita." He winked at her. "Pepper and I are busy tonight, get it?"

Lupita had worked for the Hopkins family since Dean was a child. He was like a son to her, and she had quickly grown fond of the beautiful lady he had brought back with him from California. This lady had scattered the ghosts that had haunted him since his wife's death. The household was happy and light with Pepper there. It was as if she had brought the famous California sunshine along with her. Lupita grinned and winked back at him. "Got it."

Later, Dean heard the phone ringing again as he and Pepper descended the staircase on their way out for the evening. He hoped it wasn't Royster on the line again. "Darling, I made reservations at Emilio's. I hope you're in the mood for Italian."

Pepper stopped short on the bottom stair causing him to bump into her. "Italian?"

"Yeah, Italian. I don't think we've had it since you moved in. Emilio's is fantastic. You're going to love it."

Memories of Bill with his 'passionate Italian eyes' engulfed her. Some of the happiest times of her life were horsing around in the kitchen with Bill while he cooked mouthwatering recipes handed down to him by his little Italian grandmother. "Uh, Dean, I'm not really in the mood for Italian. How about a steak instead?"

"Come on, Pepper. You love Italian." He affected a cheesy Italian accent. "A little Chianti, a little Pomodoro Bruschetta…You order the Chicken Marsala…I'll get the Rigatoni Toscano. We'll share." He nuzzled her neck and nipped at her ear. "And later, you for dessert. It'll be great."

Pepper stepped away from him. "No, Italian," she said firmly with a resolute look in her eyes that bordered on pain.

"Okaaay, no Italian." Dean wondered what the hell had brought on this reaction, but he had no intention of starting an argument with her over what to have for dinner. Not tonight. He took her jacket from the hall closet and helped her into it. "Come on. We'll decide on the way."

Before he could maneuver Pepper out of the apartment, Lupita stopped them. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. Dean, but Mr. Royster is calling again."

"Lupita," he warned sternly, "tell him we're out."

"Royster? Calling again?" Pepper's confused gaze drifted back and forth from Dean to the housekeeper.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dean, I tried to explain like you wanted, but Mr. Royster says it's an emergency, and he's going to call every thirty minutes until he reaches Ms. Pepper."

When the import of Lupita's words registered, Pepper rocketed toward the telephone in the hallway. The slick soles of her high heels lost traction on the hardwood floor, and she slid the last few feet, hitting the elegantly decorative table hard and knocking the phone and a small lamp to the floor. She yelped in pain when the sharp corner of the table made contact with her funny bone.

"Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?" Pete's disembodied voice asked from the phone on the floor.

She yanked the receiver up by its cord. "It's me, Pete. I'm here. What's wrong?"

"Pep, I –" Pete abruptly stopped talking. Everything he'd rehearsed to say to her flew out of his mind, and he simply couldn't blurt it out. Upsetting Pepper was the last thing he wanted to do, but it was impossible to soften the blow. Why didn't Joe lose the coin toss?

Pepper heard her heart pounding in her ears while silence stretched out like the miles between them. "It's Bill, isn't it?" she finally asked, terrified of hearing the answer.

"Yeah, it's Bill," he said in a voice so low and worn it was almost inaudible.

"Is he alive?"

Pete sniffed and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "It's bad, Pep. Really bad." Again, he stopped talking. How could he tell her Bill probably wasn't going to make it? He and Joe had put off calling her for as long as possible in the hopes they would have a definitive answer for her, one way or the other. Joe's wife, Harriet, eventually convinced them that every hour they waited was an hour Pepper could have spent with Bill, if not physically, then in spirit, and in trying to protect her, they were doing both Pepper and Bill a grave disservice.

Pepper held her breath while she waited for Pete to finish the sentence, to tell her Bill was seriously injured, but he was going to be okay. What Pete didn't say caused her knees to buckle, and she sank to the floor. "What happened to him?" she asked in an attempt to avoid hearing what Pete didn't want to tell her and what she didn't want to know.

"A drug bust went down hard. It's complicated. Crowley and two other cops shot, but alive. Lt. Cranston out of Ad Narc is dead."

"Where is he?"

"L.A. Memorial. The Intensive Care Unit."

"I'm coming, Pete. You tell him I'm coming."

"I will, Pep. Hurry, okay?"

"Pete, don't let him die."

Pepper numbly hung up the phone. Dean tried to help her up, but she lurched away from him and scrambled to her feet on her own. "How could you let me go to dinner without telling me Bill had been shot?" she demanded as she yanked off her shoes, her normally even voice rising octaves as a helpless rage settled over her.

"Pepper, I swear, I didn't know! Royster called while you were taking a bath, but we were going out to celebrate, and I was going to…I assumed it could wait until tomorrow."

"You assumed?! Why didn't you tell me he called?" The lame expression on his face told her not to waste time waiting for an answer. She jogged up the staircase, peeling off her dress off as she went. After she reached the bedroom, she tugged on a pair of jeans and a red sweater. She pulled a duffel bag off the top shelf of the closet and began stuffing clothes into it.

"Darling, I know you're upset, but you need to take a minute to calm down."

"I have to get to him. Will you come with me?"

Pepper looked like a scared little girl, and it killed him to see her like this. Dean flashed back to the day when the doctors told him everything that could be done had been done, but his wife still wasn't going to live, and he wished he could spare Pepper such pain. But it wasn't the same thing because Bill Crowley wasn't the love of Pepper's life. Or was he?

"Yes, of course, I'll go with you, but I have an important meeting tomorrow morning. I have meetings all week as a matter of fact. I should be able to reschedule them, but I have to make tomorrow's. I'm meeting with potential investors from overseas. Japan. I can't make them wait." He tried to take her in his arms, but she had no time to accept any comfort and pushed him away.

"I have to go tonight."

"Pepper, it's getting late, and you're too distraught. I don't want you traveling by yourself." He gripped her by the shoulders and forced her to be still. "Look, my meeting should be over by nine-thirty. Ten at the latest. You'll get a goodnight's sleep tonight, we'll fly out after the meeting and, with the time difference, we'll be in L.A. just after lunch. You'll be more help to Bill if you're fresh."

"Dean, I am _not_ waiting until tomorrow."

"Darling, there is nothing you can do for him tonight."

"I can be there with him," she cried sharply, "I can be with Pete and Joe. They're my family."

 _My family._ The words twisted in Dean's stomach, and he felt his life starting to unravel just as it had done when his wife was diagnosed with cancer. He wanted to make Pepper stay there with him, but he knew it was no use. Dean held up his palms in a placating gesture. "Okay, I'll go book you a flight."

 _ **PWPWPWPWPWPWPWPW**_

It was midnight when Pepper's taxi pulled up in front of Los Angeles Memorial Hospital. The adrenaline that had driven her throughout the evening had been slowly seeping out of her like air leaking from a tire, and now, there wasn't much left. For a moment, she simply sat there staring at the imposing structure through the car window. Bill was in there somewhere. What if he was dead? She could have called for a status report after her plane landed, but if Bill was gone, she didn't want to hear the news over a payphone in an airport. But she would know if he was gone, right? If her right arm were cut off she'd know it. So wouldn't she know if her heart had been cut out, too? The cabbie asking her if she was okay brought Pepper back to herself. She paid him, hoisted her duffel bag up on her shoulder, and trotted up the steps to the entrance as fast as her leaden legs would carry her, hoping she could handle what she would find inside.

It took her several false starts, but Pepper finally made her way through the rat maze of corridors and elevators to the 7th floor. Lucky number seven, she hoped. When she rounded the corner to the ICU, she found wall-to-wall cops, some in uniform, some in plain clothes, but all teary eyed as they watched a woman, wailing like a wounded animal, in the arms of a man who was trying to support her weight despite one of his arms being in a sling and his own heartbroken tears. Was this something to do with Bill? Pepper stood stock-still as her mind raced through the cops she knew. Did she know the officer? The woman?

Pete slipped up beside her drew her away from the sad scene. "Pep, you made it."

She found no comfort in his ashen face and red rimmed eyes. She gestured toward the waiting area. "What's going on, Pete?"

"Detective Tony Valero, one of the cops from Narcotics who made the bust with us, just died. That's his wife. The guy with the clipped wing is Detective Randy Sykes. He was shot, too, but thank God, it isn't serious. Valero was his partner."

Pepper steeled herself before asking, "What about _my_ partner?"

"Pep, I don't want to scare you, but Bill's hurt bad." Pete recited the little speech he'd been practicing. Short and to the point. "He was hit three times. He's lost massive amounts of blood, and he's gone into cardiac arrest twice because of it." He hesitated before adding, "They keep managing to bring him back, but he's unconscious, and um, honestly, they say it doesn't look good."

Pepper wanted to collapse into Pete like Valero's wife, but she held herself together out of sheer force of will. "Was he…was he shot in the head?" she stammered, trying not to cry.

"No, we were told that unconsciousness is common after cardiac arrest. And if…well, if he makes it… _when_ he makes it, there probably won't be any brain damage or anything like that." He tried to smile for her. "At least a little good news, right?"

"So the surgery was successful? The bullets have been removed?"

Pete shook his head. "It's like a vicious cycle. They can't operate because of the blood loss, but they can't stop the bleeding without the surgery. The doctor says Bill has to hang on until they can stabilize him. He's had to have a lot of blood. Almost everyone has volunteered to donate even if they don't have the right type."

"I want to see him."

"Good luck. You know how hospitals are. They say only family can see him. Only family can get the direct scoop from the doctors."

"But we _are_ family, Pete." The idea that she might not be able to see Bill because she lacked a blood tie or a wedding ring was so ridiculous it had never occurred to her.

"Tell that to the staff. Bill's sister out in Omaha is pregnant. She's been having a difficult pregnancy, anyway, and she went into early labor when she heard the news. Obviously, she can't be here."

Pepper liked Bill's sister, but she couldn't focus on her now. "You haven't seen him?"

"No, but the Chief was allowed to go in for a minute. I guess the Chief rates special privileges, but not a hippie and a black dude."

Pepper smiled in spite of herself. "Where is Joe?"

"He's with Harriet saying a prayer in the chapel." He grabbed her duffel bag. "Come on."

 _ **PWPWPWPWPWPWPWPW**_

Pepper stopped just inside the doorway of the hospital's small chapel. Her breath caught at the beautiful sight. She had never seen so many candles lit at one time. Every officer on the force must have lit one. She hoped the prayers they represented were being heard. When was the last time she had been to church? Maybe if she went more often, she wouldn't have to be here now. After a cursory genuflection, Pepper eased into the pew beside Joe and put her hands over his. "Hey, Joe."

Joe turned to her and pulled her into a bear hug. "It was like the fucking gunfight at the O.K. Corral," he sobbed into her neck. "And it was all for nothing. Santiago wasn't even there, and a truck with the drugs got away. The Narcs didn't get the damn plane, either."

Harriet nudged him with her elbow. "Watch your mouth, Joe. We're in church." She smiled at Pepper over his shoulder. "Why don't we get out of here so we can talk?"

When they reentered the ICU area, Pepper was greeted with gloomy smiles and pats on the back by the sea of law enforcement officers still waiting around for word on Crowley. Pete kept them moving, and as they passed two large double doors, he said, "He's back there."

Pepper stopped and all but pressed her nose to the window, trying to get a glimpse of Bill. Joe gently pushed her forward. "You can't see anything, Pep."

They stopped in the corridor across from the looming doors. Pepper found it almost impossible to tear her eyes away from them. "Okay, what happened?"

"You remember the Santiago prostitution case? We caught it a few days before you left?" Pete asked.

Pepper nodded. She had read the case file, but she had left town before the investigation got underway.

"Turns out, Santiago was into heroin smuggling, too, and Ad Narc got a tip in the wee hours of the morning that Santiago would be at a house out in Yellow Canyon with a load of heroin. A plane of his containing a shipment of drugs was landing today, I mean, yesterday, too. Most of Santiago's hired hands were to be meeting the plane, leaving him at the house without much protection."

"And?" Pepper prompted as she kept an eye on the doors.

"And, the-powers-that-be decided now was the time to arrest him for drugs and forget about the prostitution. We didn't like it, but what could we do? So, the four of us went with the narcs to take him."

"The four of you?"

"Beth Turner went, too, Pep," Joe told her.

"Oh, yeah, Turner," she murmured absently.

Pete continued, "The plane never showed, and Santiago's crew wasn't spread as thin as we expected. There were six people in the house, all well-armed. A couple of them had assault rifles. The tip came late so there wasn't much time to prepare, and it was all pretty disorganized. And, well, Cranston's plan could have been better."

"Cranston's plan could have been better?" Joe sneered. "Damn right, it could have been better. It's like he expected Santiago to invite us in for tea."

"Joe, give him a break. Cranston's bad judgment cost him his life."

"I can't give him a break, Pete. His bad judgment may cost William his."

"Guys," Pepper pleaded impatiently, "tell me what happened to Bill."

"Bill tried to keep Beth out of harm's way, but she saw the gunmen before anyone else did." Pete shook his head. "I don't know what she was doing, trying to warn Cranston, maybe, but she ran into the line of fire, and Bill…and Bill…"

"Stepped in to save her," Pepper finished for him. She wasn't surprised.

"I tried to get to him, Pepper," Joe told her as he fought back tears, "but I couldn't. I'm only a few feet away and he's laying there in a puddle of his own blood looking at me like what the hell, Joe? Are you just going to let me die?"

Harriet draped her arms around her husband. "Honey, I'm sure he knew you were doing everything you could."

Suddenly, the big double doors banged open and a doctor and a nurse hurried through them. "That's Bill's doctor, Pep, Dr. Jennings," Pete said.

Pepper had to jog to catch up to the doctor. "Dr. Jennings, what's going on with Sgt. Crowley?"

Dr. Jennings gave her a dismissive glance through bleary, exhausted eyes. "I'm sorry, Miss, but I can't discuss it," he replied tersely as he walked away from her.

She caught his arm and made him stop and face her. "Please, doctor, I need to know."

He bristled and extricated his arm from her grasp with a haughty glare, as if he were a king who had been touched by one of the great unwashed. Clearly, he wasn't accustomed to interference. "Look, I don't want to be rude, but not only is it against hospital policy to discuss patients with the general public, but, also, there are dozens of people around here interested in Sgt. Crowley's case, and I can't stop to talk to everyone. Unfortunately, I don't have the luxury of time to discern who warrants progress reports and who doesn't. My only concern is saving his life. So if you will excuse me, I'm extremely busy."

"I am family, Dr. Jennings." Pepper tried to keep the desperate, pleading tone out of her voice. She sensed it would do her no good to appear weak in front of this man.

The doctor quickly scanned the chart he had with him. "It is my understanding that Sgt. Crowley's family consists of a pregnant sister who, in the meantime, has gone into labor." He gave Pepper a skeptical onceover, a hint of desire in his eyes. "You're certainly looking well for a woman who has just given birth."

Once she saw the lust in his eyes, Pepper knew she had him. She didn't particularly like trading on her looks, but it often happened without her even trying. "I'm not his sister." She extended her hand to him. "I'm Lee Ann Crowley, Sgt. Crowley's wife." Twin surprised gasps escaped from Pete and Joe, and she sent them a silent warning message to keep their mouths shut.

"Why is this the first I've heard of a wife?" He hid it well, but she saw the flicker of disappointment flash across his face.

"We've been estranged, and I've been living in New York, but I'm here now and I want to know exactly what's going on with my husband, and I want to see him." Pepper's businesslike air of control was a complete farce. Little did the doctor know she was prepared to get down on her knees and beg, if necessary.

"Come with me, Mrs. Crowley."

Pepper spent over an hour discussing Bill's case with Dr. Jennings and another surgeon, whose name she couldn't recall, listening to the pros and cons of immediate surgery versus waiting. They did their best to speak on her level, but the medical information they tried to convey made her head spin. In the end, she decided to go ahead with the surgery and signed all manner of forms as Mrs. William Crowley. Now, she was finally being given the much ached for opportunity to see Bill, but as she approached his bed, she could see how terribly weak and broken he actually was. The sight of him stopped her cold, and her stomach dropped as the thought crossed her mind that the decisions she made while impersonating his wife may mean the death of him. What right did she have to make life and death decisions for Bill? Certainly not a wife's right. How would she live with herself if he died?

Part of her, almost all of her, in fact, wanted to be in this room with Bill more than anything in the world, but there was a tiny, cowardly part of her that didn't want to see him like this. Her Bill was strong and virile and could beat anything. The Bill laying the hospital bed was eerily pale and still and was dwarfed by the machines keeping him alive. Pepper knew she should be grateful for these machines, but it was almost impossible. The sounds they made as they beeped and hummed and sighed mingled together in a nightmarish symphony that chilled her to the bone. Pepper yearned for quiet. She needed quiet to reach Bill. She needed him to hear her, and she was worried he wouldn't be able to hear her over the monstrous machines. What if they were scaring him, too? Bill must be so confused and afraid. Pepper hated the thought of him being afraid. She wanted him to be at peace. No, no, no not peace! Rest in peace was what they wrote on gravestones and memorials. She drove the awful word away and took another step toward the bed.

Dr. Jennings had left her no illusions about Bill's chances for survival. Pepper had been warned to prepare for the worst and to use this time with him to say goodbye, just in case. While she sat in Dr. Jennings office, impassively listening to the two physicians explain in grim detail Bill's critical injuries and dim odds, she couldn't fathom how the situation could possibly be so dire. Bill just wouldn't, couldn't die, not her Bill. This Bill, Pepper realized with keen agony, may die, and any illusions she had been harboring about him being too tough or too stubborn to die instantly fell away. She made herself be brave and take the final steps to his side. Lifting her eyes from her shoes took another supreme act of courage. As a cop, Pepper had seen plenty of trauma victims, and it was always hard. As a _police woman_ , she was assumed to be more compassionate than a male officer, and therefore, was generally the one sent to the hospital to interview witnesses and suspects who had been injured during a criminal act. So, it wasn't that she hadn't seen such medical equipment before; it was that she had never seen anyone she loved so dearly so absolutely dependent on it. And, Pepper realized now, this was the first time she'd ever really heard it.

Pepper carefully leaned down and kissed Bill's cheek and took his hand. Trying to ignore the noise and the terrifying array of needles and tubing and fluids attached to him, she took a deep breath and with a lightness she certainly didn't feel said, "I know this is an elaborate ploy to lure me back to L.A. Well, it worked, and I'm here so you can wake up now." When he didn't respond, she said more forcefully, "Damn it, why do you always have to be Wild Bill Crowley? Couldn't you let someone else save the damsel in distress this time?"

A nurse entered the room and touched Pepper's shoulder. "Mrs. Crowley, I'm sorry, but you can only have a few more minutes with him. We have to prepare him for surgery."

Dr. Jennings' voice telling her to say goodbye, _just in case,_ echoed through Pepper's mind, but she couldn't say the words _._ She couldn't say goodbye to Bill, not when she left for New York, and not even now when he might die and leave her forever. She did her best to chase the tears out of her voice before putting her mouth near his ear. "You hear that, Bill? They're going to operate and take the bullets out. You have to fight, okay? It's time for Wild Bill Crowley to put up the biggest fight of his life. I love you, Bill, so fight for me, baby, okay? You didn't fight for me when I went to New York." Her voice broke, but she managed to choke out, "Fight for me, now…Please, Bill, fight for me now."

 _ **PWPWPWPWPWPWPWPW**_

Pepper returned to the waiting area to find that most of the crowd had cleared. Shifts would be starting soon. Crime didn't stop for shot up cops. Joe and Harriet were curled up together on a sofa asleep, and Pete was nearby asleep in a chair. A few others who were close to Bill also remained, either dozing or idly pacing. Needing to be alone, Pepper went in search for some privacy. She roamed around until she found an empty lounge on the opposite side of the floor. She bought a coffee from the vending machine and nearly jumped out of her skin when she turned to find a young woman sitting alone in a dark corner of the room.

"Damn!" Pepper exclaimed as she fumbled the coffee and sent most of it spilling to the floor.

The woman leaped from her chair. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to startle you, Sgt. Anderson. You are Sgt. Anderson, aren't you?" She grabbed a handful of napkins from a dispenser and began mopping up the mess at Pepper's feet.

"Yes, and you are?" As Pepper asked the question, she noticed the bloodstains on the woman's blouse and no longer needed an answer.

"Beth Turner. Detective Beth Turner." She offered Pepper her hand, but awkwardly withdrew it when she remembered the soggy napkins she held in it. "Oh, sorry." She threw the napkins into a trashcan and faced Pepper. A prolonged moment of silence ensued as the two women surveyed each other. "I recognized you from a photo Sgt. Crowley keeps in his desk drawer," Beth explained in an attempt to break the uneasy quiet.

Pepper lifted her eyebrows. "Are you in Sgt. Crowley's drawers often?" she inquired, her voice too strident even to her own ears.

"No, only a couple of times to get…I'm sorry about Sgt. Crowley. How is he?"

"Holding his own. They've taken him to surgery. Why aren't you waiting with the others?"

"They don't want me around. They blame me for what happened to Sgt. Crowley."

"Pete and Joe said that?"

"No, but…but…I can tell…The Chief told me there will be an IAD inquiry."

" _Is_ it your fault Detective Turner?" Pepper asked pointedly as if she were interrogating a murder suspect.

Intimidated, Beth lowered her eyes and didn't answer. Sgt. Anderson was not what she expected. The photograph she found in the desk had been taken at some sort of event with Sgt. Crowley looking uncomfortable in a tuxedo and Sgt. Anderson looking absolutely stunning in a gauzy white gown. In the photo, Sgt. Anderson had a soft, dreamy quality that put Beth in mind of Marilyn Monroe. In person, Beth could see Sgt. Anderson's curves had sharp edges.

Pepper pointed at Beth's shirt. "Shouldn't you change?"

Beth ran her fingertips lightly over the dried splotches of blood. "Yeah, I know I should. It's just…it's just…I don't know…wearing it is kind of like doing penance. Like the character in that book who had to wear a scarlet letter."

"Detective Turner, what happened yesterday?"

"We went with Narcotics to arrest –"

"I already know all that, Turner. Pick up the story at why you broke cover and put yourself at risk." Again, her voice was too sharp, too shrill, but she couldn't manage friendliness or sympathy. Not at this hour and not with this person.

"I, I didn't mean to run…I saw a man with a gun at the front window. Lt. Cranston was approaching…I was trying to warn him. I thought if I could make it to the car parked in front of the house, maybe I could help him. But I tripped over my own two feet and fell down. I'm such a klutz. Then all hell broke loose. Gunfire from every direction. Men screaming, glass flying, dust and dirt swirling around like smoke. It was like being in a war. I laid there and played dead. I guess it saved my life."

"No," Pepper admonished harshly, her voice hoarse from the tears she needed to shed, "Sgt. Crowley saved your life."

"Believe me, I know." Beth swiped at the tears dripping down her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Oh, god, Sgt. Anderson, there was so much blood. I, I've never seen anyone get shot before. He was so frightened. I was, too. We all were. The look in his eyes…I'll never forget the look in his eyes." She gazed down at her ruined blouse and ran her fingers over the bloodstains again. "I held him until the paramedics came. I didn't know what else to do." She considered telling Pepper about Bill mistaking her for Pepper, but decided against it. Those few moments Beth had spent with Bill were precious to her even though the moments didn't actually belong to her. She didn't want to give the moments to Sgt. Anderson, Beth realized. Sgt. Anderson didn't deserve them. If Sgt. Anderson loved Bill, she wouldn't have left him, and she would have been in that horrific situation at Santiago's with Bill, not her.

Anger at this woman burned brightly in Pepper. It didn't matter that Bill would have done the same thing for her or Pete or Joe or anyone else who needed saving. It didn't matter that she had pulled a few ill-advised stunts of her own that had put her, as well as Crowley, in danger. All that mattered is she might lose Bill because of the actions of Detective Beth Turner. Suddenly, another emotion blossomed in Pepper, jealousy. Turner was the one who had held Bill in her arms as his life oozed out of him. It was Turner's voice that had comforted him. Worst of all, if Bill didn't make it, the last familiar face he would ever see was Turner's, not hers. She should have been there with Bill, not Turner.

"I need some air," Pepper said brusquely and started to leave, but she unexpectedly whirled around and pulled Beth into an embrace. The hug wasn't meant to comfort either of them. It was born out of her inexplicable desire to be where Bill had been. Pepper felt the blood stiffened material of Beth's blouse through her own clothes as she held her, and she had to fight for control over her emotions. She wanted to weep in Beth's arms, and at the same time, she wanted to strangle her for endangering Bill. In the end, Pepper did neither, and after several seconds ticked past, she pushed Beth away. "Change your shirt," she commanded the stunned young woman before quickly walking away.

 _ **PWPWPWPWPWPWPWPW**_

Saturday afternoon, Pepper sat with Bill feeling guilty about not going to visit Cheryl. Did Cheryl notice nobody had shown up? Pepper had sworn she wouldn't leave the hospital until Crowley woke up, and so far, she had kept the promise. In fact, she had become superstitious about it. In her exhausted, punch-drunk mind, Bill would die if she left. It was just that simple. Pete and Joe, even Turner, visited often and had offered to stay, to call her if he so much as twitched, but she wouldn't leave him. Pepper knew she looked horrible, probably smelled horrible, too. There was only so much grooming one could do at a sink in the ladies room. Man, what she wouldn't give for a bubble bath and a chance to shave her legs.

Fate had played cruel games with Bill over the past few days. He'd barely survived the surgery, and then, another surgery was required when it was discovered he was still bleeding internally. He'd lost his spleen and part of his liver. On Wednesday, infection had set in. Dr. Jennings told Pepper every opportunity he got Bill's chances were slim, and yet, Bill continued to hang on. If Crowley wasn't giving up, neither was she. Like much of the department, Pepper had donated blood in Bill's honor. Since Bill had relatively rare A negative blood type, Pepper's O negative blood was one of the few donations from the department he received. She knew through one of the nurses when Bill actually got her blood. She watched it flow into him late one night. Pepper had sat mesmerized as her blood disappeared into Bill's body. She was part of him now, a part of every fiber of his being. Pepper cherished the thought of them being inexorably connected to each other. She prayed her strength and her will for him to live were somehow working within him, helping him stay alive.

When Dr. Jennings came in to examine Bill, Pepper moved to the corner of the room and made herself as unobtrusive as possible. The staff rarely bothered to ask her to leave the room, something she'd be grateful for if she didn't know it was because they didn't want to deprive her of time with her dying husband. However, Dr. Jennings had threatened to throw her out several times if for no other reason than to force her to get some rest. She tried to stay out of his way unless it was to demand answers about Bill's condition.

Today, he turned to her and smiled. "Well, Mrs. Crowley, it seems our boy here is finally making some progress."

"Progress?" she echoed, mildly confused. Pepper had received so much bad news lately she found good news oddly difficult to understand.

"His vital signs are stronger. He's much more responsive to stimuli. And, the infection seems to have been completely knocked out. I'm ready to start weaning him off the ventilator. His body is healing itself, and I think he will come around soon."

Pepper impulsively threw her arms around the doctor. "Really?"

It hadn't taken long for the lovely Mrs. Crowley to win him over, and he would have gladly taken her to bed, but short of this, he didn't particularly welcome such displays of emotion. He gently disentangled himself from her. "Please, Mrs. Crowley. He isn't out of the woods yet, but I believe we have reason to be hopeful. Now, why don't you go on home and get some sleep?"

"I'm not leaving, not now." Excitement sent a jolt of energy through her like a hit of cocaine.

"Frankly, Mrs. Crowley, if he wakes up and sees you…like, like…well, like _this_ , it may scare the hell out of him."

For the first time in days, Pepper laughed. "He's been scaring the hell out of me so we'll be even."

 _ **PWPWPWPWPWPWPWPW**_

Pepper sat at Bill's bedside trying to keep her heavy eyes open. Dr. Jennings was right; Bill was making progress. She could see it for herself. A flutter of his eyelids here, a small moan there. His color was better. Dr. Jennings was surprised at how quickly Bill was able to come off the ventilator. Pepper was glad to be rid of it. Not only was it a sign he was getting better, but also, it meant one less noisy barrier between her voice and Bill. She had spent all afternoon and well into the night watching him for the slightest movement. She had talked herself hoarse, encouraging every inch he made toward consciousness. Now bone tired, she rested her head on his bed and played with his fingers as she slid into sleep. A few minutes later, her head jerked up when she felt a soft tug at her hair. Bill's eyes were open!

Pepper sat down on the edge of his bed and squeezed his hand. She very nearly burst into tears of joy when she felt an answering squeeze back from him. "Bill…Bill, can you hear me? Come on, Crowley, rise and shine." He licked at his parched, cracked lips before mumbling something unintelligible. "That's it, honey…come on, Bill, try."

"Beth."

Beth? Pepper wouldn't have been more shocked and disappointed if he had slapped her, but she let it go. He was awake, and this was all she ultimately cared about. She tenderly stroked his cheek and put her face near his so he could see her more clearly. "No, Bill, it's me. It's Pepper. Don't tell me you've forgotten me already."

"Pep…Pep…Pepper?" he managed to grind out between short puffs of breath. "Where have you been?" he asked, his eyes flooding with tears.

"I've been away, but I'm home now, and I'm going to take care of you. You're going to be fine."

 _ **PWPWPWPWPWPWPWPW**_

While Pepper dug around in her purse for her keys, the phone started ringing inside Bill's apartment. Cold tentacles of fear seized her. She had given the hospital his number to reach her should anything go wrong with him. In a blind panic, she dumped the contents of her purse onto the floor outside the apartment and scooped up the keys out of the pile, Pepper's Purse Paraphernalia as Dean liked to call it. After letting herself in, she ran to the phone, praying Bill was okay.

She picked up the phone and as if waiting for a blow, she drew in her breath and made her body rigid before answering, "Lee Ann Crowley." The name rolled off her tongue as easily as a lover's sweet nothing. At some point during this trial by fire, Lee Ann Crowley had taken over. She was Lee Ann Crowley to the doctors and nurses and continued to play the role when friends visited lest someone on the hospital staff catch onto the ruse. Living and breathing Lee Ann Crowley caused Pepper Anderson to seem more and more like a good friend from her past, not her real self.

"Pepper? Is that you?"

"Dean," she exhaled, relieved beyond measure the call wasn't about Bill, but finding her instant reversion back to Pepper Anderson jarring. "I thought I was supposed to call you."

"I got tired of waiting. The hospital gave me this number to reach you. I've been worried. I haven't heard from you in days."

"I'm sorry; I've been concentrating on Bill."

"It's okay. I understand." However, he didn't understand, not really. During his wife's final days, he couldn't concentrate on anybody or anything but her, but the two situations were vastly different. Crowley isn't Pepper's husband. "How's he doing?"

"He woke up last night! Isn't it fantastic?! Bill's going to be okay." She hastily added, "Barring any unforeseen complications." She didn't want to anger the Fates by being too overconfident. Dr. Jennings called Bill's condition guarded, but improving.

"Darling, that's great news!" Dean didn't have to feign his enthusiasm. He liked Bill, and if they weren't in love with the same woman, he could see them as friends. Of course, Bill hadn't admitted any such thing to him and Pepper carefully avoided the subject of her relationship with Bill, but Dean knew Bill was in love with her. Dean could see it in Bill's eyes. The look was easily recognizable. Dean saw it in his own eyes when he looked in the mirror. The jackpot question was, was Pepper in love with Bill?

"He should sleep most of the day. I left him in Harriet's capable hands, and Pete is taking a shift later."

"Sounds great. I'm really glad he's better, but now that he _is_ better, any idea when you're coming home?" Please, come home, he silently begged.

"Um, I don't know. I haven't really thought about it. Bill has a long road ahead."

"You're not suggesting you'll stay until he has completely recovered?"

"I said I don't know," she snapped irritably.

"Look, Pepper, I have a friend who knows someone who knows someone in the NYPD. He thinks he can get things smoothed over for you. Maybe not get the job back with Vice, but still get you back in. You didn't exactly win any friends in the department by leaving without warning, but they can sympathize with a cop being shot so they may be willing to give you a pass. The least you could have done was call, though."

Pepper knew she'd probably have to kiss the NYPD goodbye after ditching her job with Ad Vice before it even got started. "I'm sorry, but I've had more important things on my mind."

"How about I fly out there?" he asked hopefully. "My meetings are out of the way. I can come spend a few days, help you get Crowley settled, then, we can fly back together."

"Dean, please, it's too soon to tell."

"Your life is here now, Pepper, with me. I miss you very much, and I want you to come home." Dean tried not to sound too demanding. Pepper wasn't Bill's wife, and she wasn't his, either, but damn it, he'd bought the ring. He had found a school for Pepper's sister and was looking into bringing his daughter home from boarding school. He was ready to move forward with their lives together and so was Pepper. She had been ready right up until Crowley's shooting, that is.

Pepper rested the receiver against her forehead for a moment while she tried to collect her thoughts. Was her life with Dean now? Now that she was back in California, her residency in New York seemed like a surreal dream. Still, Dean was her future and Bill was her past, right? Or was Bill her future and Dean her past? She rubbed the center of her forehead with the phone. Confusion was making her head ache. She lowered the phone back to her mouth. "I can't leave Bill. He doesn't have anyone else."

"I thought you said he has a sister?"

"She just had a baby. He's premature, and he's struggling. She can't possibly handle both of them at the same time."

"What about Joe and Pete?"

"They care about him, but they have their own lives and they work."

"As do you," he pointed out with infuriating smugness. "The thing to do is hire a private nurse. If money is an issue, I'll be happy to pay for it."

Pepper stifled a giddy giggle brought on by exhaustion and the absurdness of the idea. If he seriously believed Crowley would let him lay down the bread for a nurse, he was out of his mind. "Dean, please, I'm so tired. All I wanna do is sleep for the next twenty or thirty years. I'll call you later, okay?"

"Okay, darling," he replied in a tone that told her this conversation was far from over. "Sleep well. I love you."

"Goodbye," she murmured and hung up, her mind already moving on to other things like Bill, baths, and wine.

Dean waited for Pepper to return the sentiment, to say I love you, too, but all he heard was the angry buzz of the dial tone. He could feel her slipping away from him, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. Was this how Pepper felt all those years ago while he let their relationship die on the vine? He had adored Pepper, loved her with a capital L, and couldn't imagine not spending the rest of his life with her. After making love, they used to stay up until dawn planning their future. Pepper propped up on pillows leaning against the headboard, and he at the foot of the bed because the view was better, his legs tangled with hers because he found it almost impossible not to touch her in some way. They wrote all their plans down in a notebook they named The Hopkins-Anderson Treaty, and no detail was too minute or silly to be discussed, fought over, and ultimately agreed upon. She wanted to live in California, and he wanted to live on the East coast. He wanted four children, preferably all boys like his parents. Pepper wanted two children, one of each. So, they compromised. He got the East coast, and she got the two kids. As for the sex of the children, there was nothing to do but roll the dice and see who won. They decided their house would be on the water, two stories with a front porch, and they would have a dog and a cat. He wanted a hamster like he had when he was a kid, but Pepper deemed them too rat-like and firmly refused. They would take turns cooking dinner through the week and eat out on Saturdays. He was required to make blueberry pancakes with freshly squeezed orange juice for Sunday morning breakfast and serve them to her in bed. They both wanted a small outdoor wedding. Pepper wanted to honeymoon in Mexico, but Dean's choice of British Columbia won out, the price she had to pay for exercising her right of refusal over the hamster and her Sunday pancakes. They were unofficially engaged, and all that was left for Dean to do was officially propose. However, when it came time to put up or shut up, he asked the airline to transfer him to a European run. Eventually, time and distance eroded their relationship away, something he suspected would happen when he requested the transfer. Even as it was happening, he couldn't understand why he was letting Pepper go. Then, he met Kim Bailey.

Kim wasn't supposed to be anything more to him than a favor for his co-pilot, Andy Tharp. Andy's girlfriend had been nagging him to find her sister a date for their cousin's wedding. Andy was a good buddy, and his girlfriend was gorgeous so it hadn't taken too much convincing to get Dean to agree to the blind date. If he had met her on the street, Dean would have never given Kim a second look. Unlike her older sister, Kim was no great beauty. She was taller than he was in her stocking feet and rail thin. Self-conscious about her height and painfully shy, she had a slumped scuttling way of moving like an oversized crab. She kept her mousy brown hair in a severe bun and thick oversized glasses hid her face.

The wedding ended up being one of the worst nights of Dean's life. When he helped her out of the car at the church, Kim accidentally slammed his hand in the door. He was lucky his fingers weren't broken. The mishap, from what Dean gathered by her embarrassed, apologetic babbling, was par for the course with her. He hopped around, shaking his throbbing hand while Kim tried to assess the damage. Neither of them noticed the large murky pothole near the car until they both stumbled into it. Muddy water soaked the hem of Kim's pale yellow dress and mud caked their shoes. She dissolved into tears which, in turn, caused her mascara to run down her face in streams of wet soot. They staggered into the church, late for the wedding, looking like a couple of refugees from a senior prom gone horribly wrong. Dean didn't fare any better at the reception. Kim was a terrible dancer, and his toes were sore and his shoes scuffed, not that it mattered given their muddy coating, from all the times she stepped on his feet. He sat on a piece of wedding cake, which technically wasn't Kim's fault, but he assigned her the blame because it wouldn't have happened if he hadn't been there with her in the first place. When the bride threw the bouquet, Kim easily caught it because she towered over all the other women. Andy spent the rest of the evening ribbing Dean about how Dean and Kim were next in line for a walk down the aisle. Fat chance, Dean thought, and yet, as he was walking Kim to her door and thanking God the evening was finally over, he couldn't believe he was hearing himself ask her for another date.

When he approached Kim's apartment on their second date, he heard music coming from inside so exquisite heaven's angels must be green with envy. He assumed it was the radio or the record player, but it was Kim playing the piano. She had gotten so caught up with the music, she had forgotten all about their date. At the wedding, she told him, in one of the dozen or so sentences he had managed to coax out of her, she worked in a shoe store. She failed to mention she was a masterful pianist and studying to become a composer. When Kim played, she was no longer uncomfortable in her own skin, and the caterpillar turned into a butterfly. Instead of taking her to dinner and a play as planned, Dean spent the entire evening sitting on the floor next to the piano eating stale potato chips and listening to her play. On their third date, he discovered her plain hairstyle tamed beautiful but unruly curly hair and her thick glasses concealed luminous green eyes. On their fourth date, Dean surrendered to the siren song of Kim Bailey and her piano. He fell into her green eyes, drown in them, never to come up for air again, and he finally understood why he had been unable to marry Pepper Anderson.

 _ **PWPWPWPWPWPWPWPW**_

After hanging up the phone, Pepper walked over to the door and used her foot to slide her purse and its contents into the apartment, then dragged her duffel in by the strap. She left it all on the floor to be dealt with later. It was good to be back in Bill's apartment, and she was glad he hadn't changed it while she was away. Everything was as she had left it; the same comfortable furniture, the bed made with military precision, the obligatory dirty dishes in the sink. She was pleased to find the same ugly bedspread still on the bed. She had nagged Bill for ages to get a new one, but he had flatly refused. It was ridiculous to feel this way, but if he had bought a new bedspread in the meantime, it would have felt like a betrayal. Pepper didn't understand why his keeping the bedspread was important to her, but it was. Because it was a sign he hadn't moved on yet? No, Bill wouldn't spend money needlessly just to impress a woman. He pinched a penny until it screamed. She couldn't blame him for being conservative with his money, though. By the time he paid his ex-wife, Jackie, alimony and Pepper paid for Cheryl's special school, neither one of them had much cash left over.

Pepper's hand flew to her mouth. Jackie! She had completely forgotten about Jackie. Where was she? Pepper had no idea. Getting Bill to talk about his ex was like pulling teeth. Pepper found a picture of her once tucked inside one of Bill's books. Jackie was a Nordic looking blue-eyed blonde with flawless alabaster skin who had probably never spent a day in the sun. Why hadn't she shown up? Surely, she and Bill still shared mutual friends. Was Jackie so heartless she wouldn't at least check on Bill? If she lived in California, she would have to be living under a rock not to have heard about the shootout at Santiago's on the news. Pepper hoped Jackie had become a nun or joined the Peace Corps and was living in Timbuktu. The last thing she needed was for Jackie to show up and blow her cover as Bill's wife.

All Pepper really wanted was a hot bath and to climb into bed, but first, she couldn't stop herself from snooping around the apartment for signs of female companionship. To her immense satisfaction, she didn't find any obvious evidence of another woman. No his & her toothbrushes, no girly toiletries or beauty products, no women's clothing save a smattering of things belonging to her.

After finishing up her little investigation, Pepper poured herself a generous glass of red wine and carried it to the bathroom. Cheap wine tasted so much better than the expensive stuff Dean favored, but she'd never share this sacrilegious opinion with him. She sat on the edge of the tub and sipped her wine as she waited for the tub to fill. She wasn't proud of herself for nosing around Bill's place. She's the one who left, not him, and if he had found someone else in the meantime, she certainly couldn't blame him. As she soaked in the tub, Pepper tried to sort out her feelings for Bill and Dean. When she agreed to accompany Dean to New York, she'd told herself it was for an extended well-deserved vacation. She needed a break from her grueling job. She needed a break from Bill. She and Bill were going nowhere, and Pepper desperately needed to go somewhere. Deep in her heart, she knew moving in with Dean was a test to find out if they were still compatible after all these years, and the next step was marriage. Still, Pepper had to believe the lie about the move being temporary or she could have never taken that final step. Dean had broken her heart their first time around, and it wasn't easy trusting him again, but in her usual risk taking fashion, Pepper had plunged headlong back into Dean's life. She quit her job for him, gave up her sister for him, gave up _Bill_ for him. A painfully sharp memory stabbed at her when she remembered the Hopkins-Anderson Treaty. How foolish she had been to build her future on petty details instead of a solid commitment. What if Dean flaked out on her again?

Solid. Solid. Solid. Pepper rolled the word around in her head. Solid was the perfect word to describe William Crowley. Solid physically, solid mentally. Bill was a man of his word, and she knew she could always count on him. Pepper had only known him a few years, but she couldn't remember what her life was like before Bill was in it. He never demanded anything of her; he was just always there, a solid steady presence in her life. She wished Bill was more demanding. Dean, at least, made no secret of wanting to marry her. Pepper was mildly surprised Dean hadn't popped the question yet. On the other hand, she and Bill had never seriously discussed marriage. In fact, any mention of marriage, even marriages that had nothing whatsoever to do with him, made Bill break out into a cold sweat. Every first of the month when his alimony check was due and all wedding invitations led to tirades about the horrors of divorce. Bill let her go to New York without batting an eye, and he had been bending over backwards to ignore her ever since. He appeared to have no problem cutting her out of his life. Obviously, Bill didn't care for her, didn't need her, as much as she did him. And what, if anything, was going on between him and Turner?

Pepper finished off her wine and shaved her legs with Bill's razor with diabolical glee. Boy, would he be mad! He hated when she used his razor. She couldn't wait to hear him grouse. Complaints would be music to her ears after too many days of complete silence. She found Bill's pajamas where he had tossed them on floor of his closet and slipped into the top. Then, she crawled into his bed and immediately fell asleep with his pillow hugged tightly to her chest.

 _ **PWPWPWPWPWPWPWPW**_

"I don't need this damn wheelchair, Pep," Bill grumbled. For the past twenty minutes, Bill had been restlessly drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair in between proclamations that a wheelchair was absolutely unnecessary. He had been forced into the wheelchair under protest by a large burly nurse with hair on her knuckles whose gender was questionable, the dress and hat she wore notwithstanding. Pepper liked this nurse best because she was the only nurse on the floor who hadn't flirted with the handsome, heroic Sgt. Crowley during his stay. The way some of those women had thrown themselves at Bill, with his wife in the room no less, was truly shameful. Fortunately for Pepper and unfortunately for Bill, he felt too terrible to flirt back or take them up on any of their various lascivious offers.

Pepper checked her watch. What was the hold up with his release papers? "Too bad. It's hospital policy."

"What do you know about hospital policy?"

"Movies. In every movie I've ever seen, when a patient leaves the hospital, he goes in a wheelchair. So shut up about it, will you?" He shut up, but started drumming his fingers again. Pepper snatched his hand and gave his fingers a twist. "Stop that. You're driving me crazy."

"Hey, that hurt!" In retaliation, he grabbed her hand and twisted her fingers. Bill's weak grip was alarming. She took his hand again, gently this time, and held it close to her. "What?" he questioned when she didn't let go.

"Bill, I –"

Dr. Jennings came through the door in his customary harried manner. He smiled at Pepper and handed her a file. "They told me at the nurse's station you're set to go so I thought I'd bring your release information down personally. We just need one more signature. Sign the first page, Mrs. Crowley, and he's all yours."

Bill cut his eyes at _Mrs._ _Crowley_ , but the doctor didn't notice. It had been difficult to convince Bill to keep quiet about their sham of a marriage. Something about the lie wounded his pride.

"The rest is for you to keep. Written instructions about his medications, prescriptions, caring for the wounds, etc." He shook Bill's hand. "You know, Sgt. Crowley, you've been my star patient. I didn't think you'd be out of here by Thanksgiving, but you made it. I hope you don't mind me telling you that I never expected you…to…" he hesitated, groping for a diplomatic word, "recover." He'd long stopped believing in miracles, but Sgt. Crowley's rise from the ashes was truly nothing short of miraculous. "I love it when patients prove me wrong. It makes it all worth it."

Pepper knew he wouldn't like it, but she hugged the doctor, anyway. He blushed a bit, but accepted the hug graciously. "Thank you, Dr. Jennings. Thank you for saving his life."

"Well, I have to get going." He pointed at Bill. "I'll see you back here Monday morning for your follow up checkup, and if all is well, expect to get started with your physical therapy immediately."

Bill groaned. Simply the act of wiggling his toes hurt like hell. Secretly, he was glad he didn't have to walk to the car or he might have to stop every few feet to lie down and cry, but he would never admit this to Pepper.

The doctor chuckled. "If you're going to make your goal of being back on the job by January 1st, you're going to have to work for it." He turned to Pepper and asked, "Need help getting him home? I'll be finished with my rounds soon. I could drive over with you and give you a hand."

"That won't be necessary. I can handle him."

Dr. Jennings grinned at her, the gleam of desire in his eyes mingled with admiration. "I'll just bet you can. Have a happy Thanksgiving Mr. & Mrs. Crowley."

 _ **PWPWPWPWPWPWPWPW**_

"We got home about an hour ago. He's sleeping."

Bill strained to hear Pepper's conversation through the open bedroom door. She was talking to Dean. "We're eating at Joe and Harriet's…sure you can come….only one day?...oh, okay…."

Bill shut his eyes and pretended to be asleep when Pepper suddenly appeared in the bedroom doorway. She stood and watched him for a minute then ran her fingers lightly through his hair before disappearing again. He had spent seventeen hellacious days in the hospital and endured three surgeries. The initial surgery to patch up his wounds to keep him alive, the second surgery to further repair the abdominal damage that had nearly killed him, and the third, just five days ago, to repair the damage to his hip that had damn near crippled him. Ironically, the gunshot wound to his hip hurt the worst, but was the least life threatening. The jury was still out on whether or not he would regain full use of his leg. Bill had needed Pepper every one of those seventeen days, no question. Over the course of his life, he had seen many people die – injured people and ill people, and now, he knew something about dying himself, or not dying. Dying was like falling into a deep pit with zero strength, zero energy, and in his case, unspeakable pain, and in order to live, you had to claw your way out of the pit when all you really want to do is lay there and let nature take its course. He was lucky; he had been able to climb out of the pit. Maybe it was because of Pepper, maybe it wasn't, but he couldn't imagine having the will to make it without her at his side. Now, it was different. He wasn't at death's doorstep anymore, and it was time for the Crowleys to get a divorce.

Pepper sat a tray over Bill's lap. It looked like something out of an old movie complete with a red rosebud in a tiny vase, a cloth napkin, and a newspaper stuck in a slot on the side. "Here ya are Crowley, my famous chicken noodle soup."

Bill cautiously tested the soup. Pepper occasionally took cooking classes, but they were always for god-awful foreign cuisine that tasted so bad it was impossible to tell if the fault lay with Pepper or the recipe itself. Even with some lessons under her belt, her cooking was hit and miss, mostly miss. A salad or a bowl of Corn Flakes was about as far as he trusted her, which is why he normally did the cooking for them if the recipe involved heat, appliances, or more than three ingredients. Bill's hand trembled, causing him to dribble the soup, and he knew there was no way Pepper didn't notice. He hated appearing frail in front of her. He grasped the spoon with an iron grip and willed his hand not to shake, but it did anyway. He made a show of eyeing the tray. "Where'd you get this thing?" he asked to distract her.

"I bought it. All the better to nurse you with, my dear." She nonchalantly dabbed at his shirt with the napkin and then spread it over his chest like a bib. "How's the soup?"

"Great. It tastes a lot like Campbell's."

Pepper giggled. "I said it was famous, didn't I? Want some crackers?"

"Look, Pep, about this nursing thing…I, uh, I think it's time you hung up your uniform."

"What do you mean?"

"I really appreciate everything you've done for me, but I'm out of the hospital now, and it's time for you to go back to…" He couldn't bring himself say Dean's name. "…New York."

Indignant he wanted her to leave, hot tears burned her eyes. "Bill, come on, you can barely move. You need someone to take care of you."

"I'll manage, Pep. I'll be fine."

"No, Bill. No way am I leaving you. End of discussion." She stomped out of the bedroom, leaving him with his soup.

 _ **PWPWPWPWPWPWPWPW**_

"We're supposed to be at Joe's by noon," Pepper informed Bill later that evening as she fussed with his pillows, their earlier spat seemingly forgotten. "After we eat, I'll give you until half-time of the game of your choice, then we're leaving. I don't want you to overdo it. And," she added casually as if it were no big deal, "Dean will be there for dinner, too. I hope you don't mind."

Bill's heart rate quickened with jealousy, but he said nothing.

"He's flying in tomorrow. Just for the day. His late wife's parents are picking up his daughter at boarding school. She's going to spend the day with her mother's side of the family, and then his in-laws are going to bring her back to his place." Sheepishly, she amended, "I mean our place. He's going to eat with us and then fly back so he can be there when she wakes up Friday morning. They have a tradition of buying their Christmas tree the day after Thanksgiving. He doesn't want to disappoint her."

"Why don't you save him the trip and go back to New York where you belong?" he asked coldly. "You can help pick the tree."

It hurt every time Bill suggested she leave, but she covered it well. "Because," she spoke slowly with exaggerated patience, "it's Thanksgiving, and I'm pretty darn grateful you're alive so I want to spend it with you. Besides, I haven't missed one of Joe and Harriet's Un-Turkey Day celebrations since I joined the CCU, and I'm not starting now."

"I'm not going to Joe's tomorrow."

"Of course you are. Dr. Jennings said Thanksgiving dinner will be okay as long as you don't eat too much. Your stomach needs time to adjust before you start gorging yourself again."

"Pep, for once, will you listen to me? I said I'm not going."

"Bill," she hissed through her teeth with frustration. Why did he have to make everything so damn difficult? "Joe's making his brisket and Harriet's making some consommé just for you and the pecan pie you love so much. Pete's bringing one of his huge salads." She patted him affectionately on the cheek. "I got off easy this year, all I have to bring is you."

Bill rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, his body language conveying a sarcastic remark without him having to say it.

"Look, I know you're tired and sore, but we don't have to stay long. It will be good for us to all spend some time together. Family time, you know?"

If Pepper thought he was going to sit around the dinner table with Dean Hopkins like one big happy family, she had another thing coming. "Pep, I should have told you before, but when Beth called to check on me this afternoon, she invited me to her parents' house for dinner. They're having turkey and pumpkin pie like normal people, and I'm going."

"Bill, you know Joe doesn't like turkey, and his kids won't eat pumpkin pie. I'll make you a pumpkin pie if it will make you happy."

Bill burst out laughing at the idea of Pepper making a pumpkin pie and a jolt of pain electrified his leg, but his expression didn't change. Since the shooting, he had become an expert at hiding pain. Pepper pitied him enough as it was. "Pep, I just got out of the hospital. I don't relish the idea of going back in." Finding no humor in his joke, she gave him a frosty glare. "Look, the menu isn't the problem. Beth asked me for dinner, and I accepted. While I was in the hospital, we were talking one day, and we figured out her oldest brother, David, and I went through the police academy together. He works Homicide now in Washington state. We can catch up. Should be fun."

That Bill would even consider not spending the holiday with her, much less spend it with Turner cut Pepper to the core, and she lashed out at him. "Is Turner going to wipe your chin for you?" she spat. "Is she going to help you go to the john? This morning, you couldn't even get your own pants down."

"I've never had any trouble getting women to take down my pants," he replied matter-of-factly, hoping to hurt her for Dean. The arrow hit the target, and Pepper stormed out again, this time, completely out of the apartment.

 _ **PWPWPWPWPWPWPWPW**_

Pepper sat on a bench in the courtyard of Bill's apartment complex in the drizzling rain for as long as she could stand it. The evening was unusually chilly for Los Angeles and the rain only made it worse. Her teeth were chattering and the concrete bench she had been sitting on for the past half hour had turned her butt into a block of ice. When Pepper, as her mother would have put it, flounced out of the apartment, she hadn't bothered to grab her jacket or her purse, an oversight she immediately regretted when she stepped outside into the cold rain. So much for it never raining in Southern California. She was dying to go for a drink at Vinnie's to let off some steam, and she had just enough cash in the pocket of her jeans to cover the cab ride over there and one beer, but no matter how furious she was at him, she wouldn't leave Bill alone. He was weak and unsteady on his feet and despite his claims to the contrary, in a great deal of pain. All her pleas for him to use the cane he'd been sent home from the hospital with had fallen on deaf ears. As soon as they had gotten home, he had tried to throw the cane through the wall. She needed to add calling the maintenance man to repair the hole in the living room wall to her to-do list. Pepper couldn't enjoy her little tantrum for fear Bill had fallen or something worse and was up there unconscious on the floor. She made herself sit five more minutes before trudging back up to the apartment. At least the cold weather had had cooled off her temper.

Pepper found the apartment dark and Bill in bed. She stripped off her clothes down to her underwear and crawled in beside him.

Bill's weary voice came out of the darkness. "Pepper, what are you doing? Go sleep in the spare room."

This rejection was too much for her fraying emotions and she started to cry, not ladylike sniffles, but racking tears as all the stress, confusion, and upheaval of the past few months closed in to crush her. "Bill, what's happened to us?" she sobbed miserably. "You're supposed to be my best friend."

Bill wanted to shake her and scream, y _ou've made your bed with Dean, and now you have to lie in it_ , but he didn't _._ He wouldn't make whatever pain Pepper was in any worse by pointing out she only had herself to blame if she wasn't happy. Maybe she wasn't completely to blame, he mused. Maybe it was his fault for not being enough for her. He felt her body trembling next to him. If Pepper only knew what her tears do to him. They tore him up worse than any bullet could.

"Don't cry, kid. I'm still your best friend." He rolled to his good side and pulled her next to him. He expected the pain to be too great to stay in this position for long, but he found that by cupping her against him and leaning into her body, it took some of the pressure off his injuries. She was cold and wet so he tucked her as closely as possible to him, and she snuggled into his warmth. "It's gonna be okay," he murmured as the tranquilizing effect of his medications nudged him toward a sleepy abyss. "We're gonna be okay."

He didn't hear her whisper, "Hang on to me, Crowley. Don't let me go."

 _ **PWPWPWPWPWPWPWPW**_

"If I had known you were going to spend the afternoon staring out the windows, I would've held Joe to his promise to help me wash them one of these days."

"Huh?" Pepper asked Harriet with a distracted smile.

"How come you're not in the living room with the guys watching the game? You're the biggest football fan of us all." Harriet took Pepper's arm and guided her into a chair at the dining room table. She refilled their wine glasses and sat down beside Pepper. After stealing a glance into the living room to make sure the men were still engrossed in the game, Harriet asked in a low voice, "What's going on, Pep? You seem so unhappy."

Pepper picked up a paper napkin and began to shred it into little pieces. "I'm not unhappy. I guess I'm just worried about Bill. Riverside is fifty miles away."

"Relax, Pep, he rode in a car. He didn't walk the fifty miles."

"Getting shot like Bill did…my god, what happened to him, it was a real eye opener. It's not like in the movies where the hero jumps out of bed as soon as the bullets are removed and rides off into the sunset to fight another day. He's in bad shape. I know cops get shot sometimes. It goes with the territory, but, this time, it was Bill. He means more."

Harriet put her hand over Pepper's and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I'm sure Beth is keeping an eye on him. I've met her a few times. She seems like a responsible young lady."

"Yeah, I know, but she can't handle…"

"Bill the way you can?"

Pepper looked away from her and took a sip of wine.

"Pep, what's the story with you and Dean? I hoped someday I'd get to be the matron of honor when you married Bill, but now Dean is in the picture. Joe and I still can't believe you left town with him."

Pepper gazed through the doorway at Dean's handsome profile for a few seconds before answering. "Twelve years ago or so, I was crazy in love with Dean. Our relationship was really intense, and we talked a lot about getting married. We had everything all planned right down to the color of the bedroom walls and the brand of toothpaste we'd use. I had my dress picked out and was practically packed for the honeymoon."

"Then why didn't you get married?"

Pepper shrugged her shoulders. "Timing? I mean, he never got around to formally asking me. I met him when I was a stewardess, and he was a pilot. When I realized being a stewardess wasn't what I wanted to do for the rest of my life, I quit. Through a friend, I got started modeling. Then, Dean was transferred to European flights out of New York City so he moved there. He likes the East coast. He grew up in Boston. He'd be out of the country most of the time, and I knew I couldn't make a living as a model in New York so I stayed here. In the modeling world, New York is the big time, and I wasn't good enough. I was too old. I came to it too late. But I was doing okay in L.A., and I didn't want to move, at least not right then. I thought Dean and I could wait for a bit while we chased our dreams, but I was wrong. We were both really busy. We almost never saw each other, and it was impossible to keep the relationship going. It ended, but he always felt like the one that got away, you know what I mean?"

Harriet shook her head and looked lovingly over at Joe who was busy doing his goofy touchdown dance with their son, Joey, while Pete and Dean booed and threw popcorn at them. "Joe was my high school sweetheart. He was my first love, and he'll be my last."

Pepper smiled ruefully. "Well, some of us aren't so lucky. So anyway, in the past, whenever I was at loose ends, sort of drifting…drifting between jobs, between men…when things weren't going so well, I would think of Dean and regret we didn't make it work. Harriet, my mother wasn't quite seventeen when she married my dad, and I came along a year later. They were so happy together! My mother didn't even finish high school. My dad got a job in another state, and she dropped everything to marry him. I wanted an old-fashioned love like theirs, but I ended up over thirty without a steady job or a family of my own. Sometimes, I look back at my relationship with Dean and think if I had just tried harder, if I had dropped everything like my mom did to be with him, I would have my life together like my parents did."

"It isn't fair to compare yourself with your parents, Pep. They lived in a different era."

"The thing is, I finally have my career straightened out. I love being a cop. Is it too much to ask to have the same contentment with my personal life? Dean loves me. He wants a future with me, maybe a baby. He already has a little girl. It's a readymade family. Harriet, I have a second chance at what I always wanted. Shouldn't I take it?"

"Would that make you happy? A white picket fence with a mortgage, a pink apron, a couple of kids underfoot, and a man outside mowing the lawn?" Pepper shook her head, but the gesture was vague and wasn't really a yes or a no. "Pepper, are you in love with Dean?"

"Yes, I love Dean. Of course, I do."

"That's not what I asked. I asked are you _in love_ with Dean?"

Pepper's voice waivered, "I was…I mean, I am…I'm, I'm trying to be."

"You don't sound so certain. Come on, Pepper, what do you want?" Harried prodded in a fierce whisper. "Forget about the past. What do you want now? What about Bill?"

Tears glistened in Pepper's eyes. She turned her face away from the entrance to the living room so Dean couldn't see her and wiped her eyes with the remains of the napkin she'd been playing with before answering. "Bill runs deep. He's a layer of my soul. But he doesn't love me, and he's happy with the status quo."

"How do you know?" Harriet asked.

Pepper felt a hand on her shoulder. "Darling, I hate to break up the party, but we need to get going." Dean took in the startled faces of the women and knew he had interrupted something heavy. Was he the topic of this serious discussion? Or was it Bill Crowley?

"So soon?" Pepper asked, obviously disappointed.

"We have to make a stop before the airport."

"Harriet, I feel guilty about leaving you with this mess. So many dirty dishes!"

"Oh, don't worry about it. I'll put an apron on Joe, and we'll go through them in a jiffy. We got it down to a science. Hold on a second before you go." Harriet went into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with a cardboard box. She handed the box to Dean, but spoke to Pepper. "I made Bill his very own pecan pie. He needs to put some meat back on his bones. The consommé is in here, and I packed you guys some leftovers for tomorrow, too."

Pepper gave Harriet a hug. "Thank you so much. Let's have lunch soon."

 _ **PWPWPWPWPWPWPWPW**_

"We left Joe's early to come here?" Pepper asked, a trace of annoyance coloring her tone, after Dean directed her to pull into the parking lot of the Walton Hotel.

"Pepper, we haven't seen each other in weeks." He kissed her deeply. "Come on, let's go inside. The room I reserved has a hot tub."

"Dean, I wasn't expecting this."

"Surprise!" He kissed her again while his hands started working the top buttons of her blouse. She broke the kiss and pushed at his hands. "Darling, what's the matter? I don't want to rush you, but we don't have a lot of time."

"Dean, I'm just, I'm just…well, to be honest, I'm just not in the mood."

He expelled a heavy, impatient sigh. "We haven't been together in weeks and you're not in the mood? Not tonight, I have a headache. Is that it?"

"Actually, I do have a headache." She massaged her temple with her index finger. "Dean, listen, I'm really tired, okay? The past couple of weeks have wiped me out. Please, don't be mad."

Dean tinkered with the loose handle on the glove compartment, his jaw clenched tight. He reminded himself, as he had been doing every day since Crowley was shot, Pepper wouldn't have packed up and moved across the country to be with him if she didn't love him. He faced her again, a smile replacing the scowl, and rebuttoned her blouse. "It's okay, Pepper. Drive me to the airport." The smile didn't reach his eyes.

"On second thought, I could really use that hot tub. Let's go."

She opened the car door, but he reached across her and pulled it shut. "Pepper, you just said you don't want to."

"I changed my mind. You're right; we need to spend some time together."

"Forget it. I'm not going to drag you in there by the hair and ravish you like a caveman."

"Dean, I said I will. I want to."

"Not like this. I want you to want me as much as I want you. Just take me to the airport, okay?"

Pepper didn't know what to say to him so she didn't say anything, and they drove to the airport in stony silence. When they arrived, she parked the car and said, "I'm sorry I ruined your surprise. Sex has been the last thing on my mind lately. When you told me you'd only be here for a few hours, I never expected us to, well, you know. "

"No problem. I would have told you my plan if I had known making love with me is something you have to gear yourself up for."

She put her hand on his arm. "Dean, you know that's not how it is."

Abruptly changing the subject he said, "Pepper, I need to tell you something. Years ago, when I got transferred, you know, to the European run, I was the one who asked for the transfer."

Pepper gasped, "You?" The repercussions of the revelation sent her mind reeling.

He nodded solemnly and pointed his thumb to his chest. "Me."

"But if you hadn't been transferred, we would have…we'd be…"

"Married. Yeah, I know."

"Why would you do such a thing?"

"Pepper, I wanted to marry you more than anything in the world, but, in the end, I couldn't go through with it. At first, I believed…I told myself I was putting off proposing to you because I needed to save some money for a nice ring and a down payment on a house, but the longer I waited, the more I began to feel like it just wasn't right. I was too much of a coward to tell you so I asked to be transferred. I figured if we survived the separation then it really was meant to be, if not…"

"Why didn't you just tell me you wanted out?" she asked angrily. "How could you let me just…just wait and hope? And blame myself? All this time I thought I was the one who should have tried harder."

"I'm sorry, I was a real SOB."

"Why are you bringing this up now? What's the point?"

Dean drew her across the seat toward him. "For one thing, I don't want us to have any secrets between us. Also, I need you to know that I love my wife, Kim, and she was where I was supposed to land." She tried to pull away from him, but he held her firmly by the arms and made her look at him. "Please, Pepper, hear me out. If it weren't for you, I would have never found Kim. I used to be so restless. Until you, I was always ready to move on to the next flight, the next city, and the next woman. You made me see domesticity was something I wanted, something I needed. You made my life with Kim possible, and now, Kim makes my life with you possible."

The knot in Pepper's throat made her feel like she was being choked. "So what you're saying is, since you can't have your first choice, you're willing to make do with the second runner up?"

"Pepper, please, don't try to turn this into something ugly. It isn't a contest. Kim finished what you started. She finished taming me, settling me down. I love Kim, but she's my past. You're my future. A few months ago, someone from the old days mentioned your name, and I just knew I had to find out about you. It may sound clichéd, but I believe its fate. I was destined to marry Kim, and you were destined to become a police woman. If we had gotten married, we wouldn't have fulfilled those destinies. Now, we've come full circle, and it's our turn." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the red velvet ring box, an impulsive action that surprised even himself. "I've been carrying this around with me since before you left. You deserve wine and roses, not a car in an airport parking lot, but marry me, Pepper. Please, marry me."

Her eyes grew wide with shock. "Dean, I – "

"Darling, don't say anything. I know we agreed it wasn't necessary to make it official right away so I don't expect an answer today. I don't _want_ an answer today, unless it's yes." He put the box in her hand and closed her fingers around it without showing her the ring. "I know cops can get really close because of the dangers they face together. There's a camaraderie there that civilians can't be a part of, and I don't get your relationship with Bill Crowley. I don't know what he really means to you. Sometimes, I don't think you know, either."

"Dean," she tried to interrupt, but he kissed her into silence then rested his forehead against hers. With his eyes closed because he feared seeing no in hers, he said, "Just listen to me, Pepper. I love you and I want to marry you, but I want you figure to out what you want. Me or Bill or none of the above. Our future… all our futures depend on it so take your time. I was deliriously happy with Kim. I won't _, I_ _can't_ settle for anything less than deliriously happy with you. My daughter and I need your certainty, and I think Bill needs it, too." He kissed her hard then jumped out the car before she had a chance to respond.

Still in shock, Pepper watched him until he disappeared inside the terminal. She opened the box. The ring inside was exquisite. When the sunlight caught it, it shone like a star. Pepper rested her head on the steering wheel and waited for tears that didn't come. After a while, she raised her head and saw an airplane lifting into the sky. It was probably going somewhere sunny and fun. If it weren't for Cheryl, she'd march into the airport and buy herself a one-way ticket to a far flung tropical paradise. She'd swear off men, wear a bikini for the rest of her life, and never be heard from again. But there was Cheryl, and there was Bill, and there was Dean, and they weren't going to disappear even if she did. Feeling totally disconnected from everything that had just happened, Pepper put the ring in her purse and drove away.

 _ **PWPWPWPWPWPWPWPW**_

As Pepper lugged the box of Thanksgiving leftovers up to Bill's apartment, concern for him creased her brow and quickened her steps. She'd been away too long and Bill shouldn't be left alone. Before letting herself in, she took a deep breath, put a smile on her face, and swept the events of the day out of her mind. She wasn't ready to discuss Dean's admission that he purposefully destroyed their relationship or his proposal with anyone, especially not with Bill. "Lucy," she called out in a rotten imitation of Ricky Ricardo as she opened the door, "I'm home." Much to her chagrin, when she stepped through the door, she found herself face to face with Detective Turner. Her smile disintegrated into a taut line across her mouth.

"Shhh," Beth mimed and pointed at Bill who lay sprawled out on the sofa sound asleep. She motioned for Pepper to follow her into the kitchen. "He's asleep."

"I can see that," Pepper replied archly.

"The pain pill he took put him right out."

"Pain pill?" Pepper asked with rising concern. Even while in the hospital, Bill had been stubborn about taking painkillers. She knew he wouldn't have taken one today unless he was in extreme pain. "Did something happen? Did he fall?"

"No, Sgt. Anderson, nothing like that. I think the drive was a little too much for him."

"You think? He only got out of the hospital yesterday. Maybe a hundred mile round trip wasn't such a bright idea." Pepper detested the tone her voice took on whenever she spoke to Turner, but she didn't have any control over it.

"I was trying to give him a happy holiday to help make up for what happened. If you didn't think he should go, you should have spoken up."

"I'm not his mother."

"Just what are you, Sergeant?"

Pepper ignored her and busied herself putting away Harriet's food. "How'd he do today? He didn't eat too much, did he?"

"No, quite the contrary. He didn't each much at all. He did…he, um…"

"He what?"

"He sneaked a beer while I wasn't looking."

"A beer?!" Pepper exploded. She glanced over at Bill to make sure she hadn't woken him up and lowered her voice. "He's on medication. He isn't supposed to be drinking. I can't believe you let him take a painkiller after having a beer."

"I'm not his mother, either. He drank the beer hours ago. He'll be fine."

"He's takes other medication besides painkillers."

When Pepper only continued to glare at her, Beth huffed, "Sergeant, what happened the day Bill got shot was not my fault. They were tipped we were coming. They were loading up the drugs and trying to get out of there before we showed up. If we had gotten there ten or fifteen minutes later, the house would have been empty. But we didn't, and those men had no choice but to try to take us out so they could get away."

"I never said it was your fault, Detective Turner."

"I'm not blind, Sgt. Anderson, you look at me like I'm gum stuck to your shoe."

Pepper shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous…Detective, I appreciate you staying with Sgt. Crowley until I got home, but I can take it from here. I would like to wash my hair while he's asleep," she gestured toward the door, "so if you don't mind…"

"Actually, I do mind. I have something I want to talk to you about before I go."

Pepper gave her a look that said _out with it_.

"I want to volunteer to take care of Bill so you can go back to New York."

"What?"

"Bill's getting stronger, and he won't need constant care much longer, but if he wants me to, I can move in and stay as long as it takes. I owe him my life, and I'll do anything for him. I've accrued tons of vacation time. I can drive him to his medical appointments, run errands, help out around the house, whatever. I assure you, Sgt. Anderson, I'm as capable of satisfying Bill's needs as you are, probably more so."

Pepper hadn't had a catfight over a man since she was fifteen and went at it with Rhonda Reynolds out behind the gym over which one of them would ask Mikey Stevenson to the Sadie Hawkins Day dance. Oh, how she'd like to get Turner out behind the gym now. "Detective Turner, I assure you, I'm quite capable of satisfying Bill's needs without any help from you."

"What about your boyfriend back in New York? What about his needs?"

"There's enough of me to go around, not that it's any of your business." Oh god, did she really say something so corny? "Besides, your actions today don't exactly scream competent caretaker so I think Bill can do without your _services_." Pepper walked over to the door and opened it. "If you don't mind, Detective…"

"Happy Thanksgiving, Sergeant," Turner said as she stalked out the door, her words dripping with sugary insincerity.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Detective." Pepper slammed the door behind Turner. She winced and glanced over at Bill, but he was oblivious to the noise. She took the plaid throw blanket from the back of the sofa and spread it over him. With her hands on her hips, she smiled down at him and sighed, "Oh, Crowley, what am I going to do with you?"

 _ **PWPWPWPWPWPWPWPW**_

After washing her hair and feeding Bill some consommé, Pepper climbed into bed beside him. He was dozing through an old John Wayne western, 'Rio Bravo'. "You look like Feathers," he commented during one of his waking moments, "except for the brown hair."

"You really think so? She's beautiful."

"You're beautiful, too," he told her sweetly through a yawn.

The compliment warmed her heart. Bill's usual, _you're not a bad looking broad,_ was flattering because she knew it was his way of letting her know he likes her looks without getting too sappy, but telling her she's beautiful with almost a childlike innocence was much more special. "Harriet sent you an entire pecan pie. Want some?"

"Tomorrow for breakfast."

"I gave a piece to Cheryl, I hope you don't mind. I went to see her after I dropped off Dean at the airport. That's why I was late getting home tonight."

"I don't mind you giving Cheryl some pie." He added under his breath, "I don't mind Dean flying the hell out of here, either." Bill's eyes slid sideways to see if Pepper had heard him. Apparently, she hadn't.

"How was Thanksgiving with Turner's family?" she inquired casually, trying her best not to sound too interested.

"Great. One of her uncles is a retired cop. Now, he's a private eye up in San Francisco. He had some terrific stories. Might be something I'd like to try someday if I ever decide to turn in my badge."

A little voice reminded Pepper she wasn't in the CCU anymore, but still, the possibility of him leaving the force made her chest tighten. "You're thinking about quitting?"

Bill stifled another yawn. "No, not really, but it's worth keeping in mind." He hadn't been thinking about quitting, but he sure as hell had been thinking about getting terminated. Pepper and the end of his career were the only two things he'd been thinking about since the shooting. He wouldn't be allowed to stay on the force if he couldn't walk. How in the hell would he make a living if he couldn't be a cop? He didn't know how to be anything else. He didn't want to be anything else.

The boa constrictor wrapped around her chest loosened its grip. "Did you have a good time with Turner?"

Happy to change the subject he replied, "Sure, her family is great. It was great seeing David again. The meal was great."

"What about Turner?"

"What _about_ Turner?"

"Did you have a _great_ time with her?"

"Pep, what's this all about?" Bill asked warily.

"I just want to know if you had a great time with Turner is all."

Unless he was totally off base, Pepper was jealous of Beth. Bill knew this would be a perfect time to mess with Pepper's head, exact a little revenge for what she was putting him through with Dean, but he didn't have the heart. She was here with him now and there was no sense in ruining what little time he had left with her. He put his left hand over his heart and raised his right hand. "I solemnly swear Beth and I have never and will never have a great time together."

Satisfied Turner wasn't a threat, Pepper purred a sigh of contentment and nestled in beside him. "Funny, Cheryl wouldn't eat the pie."

"She likes doughnuts," Bill mumbled as he dropped off again. "This Saturday, we'll take her some doughnuts."

 _ **PWPWPWPWPWPWPWPW**_

"Pep, the pizza is here."

"I'm in the tub."

With a reluctant groan, Bill heaved himself off the sofa. He was exhausted. Five days a week of physical therapy was grueling, but it was paying off. He still walked with a pronounced limp, but he had two more weeks until the first of the year, and if he continued to improve, there was no question he could handle going back to work. He'd have to ride a desk for a while, but by March at the latest, he would be able to pass the department's fitness test and be back in the field with Pete and Joe, and, he remembered grudgingly, Beth. He still suffered pain, and there was a possibility he'd always be in some degree of pain, but he tried not to think about it. He was alive and on his feet which was a better deal than Cranston and Valero got.

Bill checked his pockets for his wallet on the way to the door. He didn't have it on him, and he was definitely not inclined to search the apartment for it. He spied Pepper's purse hanging on the coat tree by the door. He took it and helped himself to her wallet. He paid the delivery boy, and in the process of balancing the pizza box, her purse, the change, and her wallet, he accidentally turned her purse upside down and everything spilled out of it. Bill swore and lowered himself to the floor to gather up her things. The red box naturally caught his attention, but he didn't immediately understand its significance. Curious, he opened the box. The diamond inside blinked up at him, and the realization of what it meant hit him like a sledgehammer. So she was marrying Dean! He heard Pepper coming so he stuffed everything back in her purse as quickly as he could.

"What's going on Crowley, you decide to have a picnic?"

"I, uh, had to borrow a couple bucks to pay for the pizza."

"Why am I not surprised?" She hung her purse back on the coat tree, picked up the pizza, and offered her free hand to him. "Come on, are you going to sit there on your butt all night?" He made no move to get up but sat staring up at her with pain in his eyes. "Bill, are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm not hurt," he muttered, "not hurt at all." He managed to make it to his feet without her help and sank down heavily on the sofa.

Pepper put the pizza on the coffee table in front of him and went into the kitchen to get sodas and napkins. "Dinner is served," she announced with a flourish. When he made no grab for the food, she prodded, "Come on, dig in before it gets cold."

"I'm not very hungry, Pep."

"Bill Crowley not hungry?" Pepper put her hand to his forehead to check for a fever. Dr. Jennings had warned her more than once that a serious infection was still possible even at this late stage so she always watched him like a hawk. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine. Look, I've been thinking, you're probably anxious to get back to New York to spend the holidays with Dean. I don't need a babysitter anymore so you can go on. I wouldn't want you to miss the big tree in Rockefeller Center or New Year's Eve in the Rainbow Room."

No, she didn't want to spend the holidays in New York. Dean's proposal had brought everything into crystal clear focus. Starting up with him again had been a huge mistake. All Pepper had to do was look at the ring in her purse if she needed a reminder. There was a time in her life when getting a rock like that would have been like winning the lottery. This one only repulsed her because she had no right to it. She knew she had to go back to New York to square things with Dean soon. He deserved better than a Dear John phone call. Although, since Thanksgiving, their awkward telephone conversations combined with days of no communication at all pretty much told the story, and she didn't think he'd be too surprised when she returned the ring. Their relationship ended the first time a lot like this, she mused. There was no big fight or emotional breakup scene. They had slowly stopped communicating until their connection faded away.

"Bill, we need to talk about me and Dean."

"No, we don't. You and Dean are the last thing I want to talk about. It's none of my business. I'm not hungry. I'm going to bed." He hoisted himself off the sofa and limped to the bedroom as quickly as his bum leg would allow.

Pepper debated following him and forcing him to discuss it, but in the end, she decided it would be better to get things straightened out with Dean first. She owed him this much, she supposed. After all, she's the one who rushed into a relationship with him when she was, in reality, unavailable. She'd never be available to another man, Pepper knew now, not as long as she and Bill Crowley shared the same planet. She called the airport and made a reservation for a flight to New York City for December 27th.

Later, when Pepper came to bed, Bill pretended to be asleep. What were they doing sleeping in the same bed? Why had he let the situation get this far out of hand? It had become natural to have Pepper sleeping beside him every night without the guessing games that came with dating or whatever the hell you called what they had been doing for the past few years. It was terrific simply having her with him as a matter of course without having to decide whose place they would stay at or the awkwardness of determining if she _really_ wanted him to stayover or trying to remember if he had a change of clothes on hand for the next day. It was almost like being married except for no sex and (mostly) no fights. Maybe the shooting had caused him brain damage because lately, in his mind, Dean had ceased to exist. Even Pepper didn't seem to be too anxious to go back to New York, giving Bill hope things had cooled down between them. He realized now he was a damned fool to think anything had changed. Pepper was obviously only trying to spare his feelings. That's why she was toting around the ring in her purse instead of wearing it. She's keeping her engagement a secret because she thinks poor, pitiful Crowley can't handle the truth. Their current arrangement was bizarre on so many levels, and it had to stop, but damn him, he didn't have the strength to put an end to it. There was a big difference between asking her to go and letting her go.

 _ **PWPWPWPWPWPWPWPW**_

"Bill, what's wrong? Didn't you have fun at the party tonight?"

Bill tossed his keys on the table and his jacket over the chair. "Yeah, it was fantastic," he replied with the bad humor that had become his modus operandi over the past several days.

"Could've fooled me." Pepper reached up and put her thumb in the dent in his chin, her second favorite feature of his face, next to his deep brown eyes, and tilted his head down to hers. "Come on, sourpuss, tell me what's wrong. You've been in a real bad mood lately."

He gave her an annoyed look and swatted her hand away. "Almost getting shot to death tends to put me in bad mood."

"Are you going to milk that for the rest of your life?" She fiddled with the radio until she found a station playing Christmas music and turned on the tree lights.

"It's late. I'm going to bed."

"Bill, its Christmas Eve." She dragged him down next to her on the sofa. "Let's sit here for a little while and enjoy the tree." They put their feet up on the coffee table, and she cuddled up next to him.

After several minutes, Bill began to relax. He had never been one for holiday decorations, but he had to admit, the tree Pepper insisted on putting up was pretty, and they'd had a great time decorating it. In celebration of Dr. Jennings giving him permission to drink again, they made eggnog with more rum than nog, and after a couple of cups, he was able to loosen up and forget about his problems. After a couple more, he was lit up brighter than the Christmas tree. Pepper wound silver garland around her neck like a boa and tied a big red bow in her hair. They sang rum soaked Christmas carols at the top of their voices until his upstairs neighbor pounded on the floor to shut them up. The grand finale was a tinsel fight that resulted in an explosion of blue tinsel all over the apartment and all over them, too. Afterward, he had thoroughly enjoyed unwinding the boa, untying the bow, and pulling the tinsel from her hair and clothing strand by strand. Only with Pepper could decorating a Christmas tree become an erotic experience. Bill smiled wistfully at the memory of the fun they had knowing next year wouldn't be the same. While Pepper sat beside him with a dreamy expression on her face, softly singing along with the radio, he used his detective's eye to observe her. Those cheekbones, those eyes. Her face deserved to be sculpted in Italian marble. The magnificent Roman goddesses his grandmother used to tell him stories about had nothing on Pepper Anderson. He committed to memory how beautiful she looked with the reflection of the red and green lights twinkling all around her like Christmas fairies. Next Christmas, this memory of her would be all he would have left. Bill kissed the top of her head and laced his fingers with hers. The apartment still smelled of the sugar cookies they baked this afternoon. This was a perfect ending to Christmas Eve. And since they had to end, a perfect ending to their lives together, if a perfect ending was possible.

She stood up and tugged him off the sofa. "Dance with me, Crowley."

"Pepper," he groaned, "my dancing ain't what it used to be."

"Come on, dance with me." She threw him a flirty wink. "I promise we'll take it real slow."

They held each other tightly and gently swayed as Roy Orbison mournfully sang of pretty paper and pretty ribbons of blue. Pepper felt so good in his arms, her soft hair caressing his cheek, her warm breath on his neck sending little thrills of pleasure through his body. Loving her was effortless, and he fell for her over and over again. 'Pretty Paper' finished up, and Bill was thankful for another slow song so they wouldn't have to stop dancing. Without realizing what he was doing, his hands were in her hair drawing her face toward his and he was kissing her. In the back of his mind, he wondered when Pepper would think about Dean and put a stop to it, but she only melted into him, and it didn't take long before all thoughts of calling a gentlemanly halt to the encounter disappeared. By the time Charles Brown started begging his wayward love to come home for Christmas, Bill was completely lost in Pepper. Their kisses became more passionate and the dancing was forgotten as their limbs, following the example of their lips, became engaged in more sensual pursuits. Somehow, her dress slipped to the floor, and they, somewhat awkwardly because of his leg, soon followed. They made love next to the Christmas tree slowly and sweetly, their usual hungry, competitive style of sex giving way for something more poignant and tender.

 _ **PWPWPWPWPWPWPWPW**_

Pepper awoke the next morning in high spirits. They had eventually retired to the bedroom and sleeping next to Bill, sexually sated and blissful, was a long awaited homecoming after so much time physically apart. They had bonded in the weeks since his shooting in ways Pepper didn't know were possible. They were best friends and lovers before, but the crisis had galvanized them into something stronger and deeper. She thought of how her blood flowed through his veins. They were a part of each other now, body and soul.

Pepper smelled the aroma of coffee and forced herself out of the warm cocoon of the bed. They were expected at Joe's by noon for Christmas dinner, and it was almost nine already. She and Bill still needed to have their own private celebration, after which, she hoped they would wind up back in bed. There was a small package under the tree with her name on it, and she wondered for the hundredth time what it was. Bill had had little unaccounted for time alone since he'd been shot so she didn't see how he could have shopped without her knowledge. The clumsy wrap job was a clue he hadn't ordered the gift from a store. Hopefully, Harriet picked something up for him. At least Pepper knew it wasn't a vacuum cleaner or a blender. No nonsense Crowley liked to give practical gifts, except for the Hermès scarf, she remembered fondly. She hoped he liked the new jeans and shirt she got him. He had lost a lot of weight and his clothes hung off him. She knew this wouldn't last long. Once Bill got back into the regular routine of after work beers at Vinnie's, he'd fill back out. She bought him a leather jacket, too, to replace the one ruined by the shooting. She wanted him to look terrific his first day back at work.

Bill didn't share Pepper's good mood this morning. He wouldn't trade last night with her for a king's ransom, but last night had to be the _last_ night. She was going to marry another man, and he felt almost adulterous for having taken her to bed. As far as he was concerned, married women were off limits. He'd had his fair share of women over the years, but he had never crossed that line. For one thing, he'd never been so desperate, there were plenty of single fish in the sea, but also, it was a matter of honor. Bill respected the marriage vows. If he listened hard enough, he could still hear his parents' knock-down drag-out fights ringing in his ears. It wasn't unusual for his father to come home late at night with lipstick smeared on his collar, reeking of cheap booze and even cheaper perfume. His mother, as volatile as a live volcano, used throw things at his dad and screech at him in Italian in the hopes the neighbors wouldn't understand why they were fighting. His father, too drunk to care who heard the fight, hurled his insults back at her in English. Whenever his parents fought, Billy, as he was called when he was a kid, would hide in his closet with his little sister until it was over. He used to cover his sister's ears with his hands so she wouldn't have to hear their parents laying into each other. Sometimes, his mother would lock his dad out of the house and yell at him through the door to go away and never come back. Billy lived in fear his father would leave. He loved his dad. It was true, his dad wasn't the greatest father in the world, but when he was sober and flush, he was good for a hot dog and a baseball game on Saturday afternoons. When he was drunk, he knocked Billy around a little, but he was always sorry afterwards, and he'd give him a couple of pennies to buy candy to make up for it. One day, when Billy was eight years old, his mother locked his dad out and, once again, demanded he leave. This time, his dad followed her instructions to the letter, and Bill hadn't seen him since. He didn't even say goodbye to his children. Bill would never knowingly be the reason some poor kid's family disintegrated. Pepper wasn't married yet, but she was going to be, and he had to face it. Once they got back from Joe's today, they had to have a long talk. The weird limbo they were living in had to end. He had to stop half-heartedly asking her to leave and make her go this time. She belonged to Dean, not him. They had to say their goodbyes and mean it.

Pepper bounced into the kitchen and gave him a big sloppy kiss. "Wanna go open presents?" she asked, grinning like a little girl.

"Sure," he forced a smile, "can't wait to see what Santa brought me."

Pepper watched him open his gifts from her and was pleased that he was pleased with them.

"Don't you want to open yours?"

"I'm savoring the surprise," she said before tearing away the wrapping paper. She lifted the lid off a small cardboard box to find a sterling silver ring with a light blue moonstone. It was obviously old, but it was gorgeous. "Oh, Bill, its beautiful…Is it…is it…an engagement ring?" she asked hopefully.

Given the fact Pepper was engaged to another man, a man who had given her a diamond as big as a golf ball, her mistaking his dinky ring as a proposal of marriage made Bill feel pathetic and embarrassed, and his face turned a deep shade of red. "Of course not," he snapped without thinking, his tone as sharp as a razorblade, "don't be ridiculous."

Tears of rejection and disappointment filled Pepper's eyes. "Oh, I see. Would marrying me be so awful?"

Not tears. He couldn't handle tears. Bill reached out and tried to stop the teardrops slipping down her face with his fingertips. "Pepper, please don't cry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like it sounded."

"Don't you love me, Bill? At least a little bit?"

"Love you?" he asked incredulously. "Sweetheart, if you don't know that I love you, I haven't been doing something right."

"Then, why don't you tell me? I used to say it to you, but you never said it back so I stopped. Say it, Bill. Say I love you, Pepper."

"You think I don't love you? What about all the time we've spent together? The nights? What about _last_ night? What about the meals I've cooked for you? What about," he butchered the pronunciation, "the Hermès scarf? The foreign films I let you drag me to? Taking care of you when you had the stomach flu? Keeping your old car running? What about helping out with Cheryl? What about the thousand deaths I've died worrying about you on the job? Aren't actions supposed to speak louder than words?"

"It's not the same thing. Why won't you say it? Bill, I need to hear you say it."

He stood up, went over to the window, and spent a few minutes watching a boy test out his brand new skateboard. Pepper had just about given up getting an answer to her question when he raked his hands roughly through his hair and turned to face her. "Okay, I'm gonna lay some truth on you, kid. The thing is, I must've told Jackie I loved her a million times. I told her every day, sometimes multiple times a day, sometimes every waking hour. It never did any good to say it because I couldn't convince her of it. You know how police work is, it isn't exactly a nine to five job, but you can't imagine the hell I caught if I was twenty minutes later getting home than I said I'd be. I never once gave Jackie any reason to believe I was cheating on her, but she acted like I couldn't be trusted to keep my pants zipped. If we weren't fighting about my imaginary affairs, we were fighting over my job. She wanted me to quit the force and go to work for her father selling insurance. Can you see me selling insurance?"

Rapt with interest, Pepper shook her head no.

"Police work was too dangerous for her. She nearly had a nervous breakdown worrying about me getting killed. It's just as well we didn't stay married because what happened to me at Santiago's would have sent her over the edge. On top of everything else, I didn't make enough money. Jackie was taking classes in art and interior design at the university. She wanted to be an interior decorator, and she had an eye for nice things. She was crazy about fancy paintings, candlesticks, crystal, antique furniture, you name it…We had the swankiest dump in the state of California. She even bought things and stored them in her brother's attic for when we bought a house. As if we'd ever be able to afford a house at the rate we were going. Between paying for all the stuff she bought and her college tuition, I was up to my ears in debt. I had to moonlight as a security guard just to keep us afloat which, in her book, gave me even more chances to cheat. We fought all the time, but god help me, Pepper, I loved her. She was my life. I kept thinking if we could just hang on until our careers got going and Jackie grew up a little bit, we'd be okay, but one day, I came home from work, and she's gone." He punched his palm with his fist for emphasis. "Just like that. Left me a note saying she had to go find herself and never came back. Later, I found out one of her art professors had been helping her look." Jackie left him exactly like his father did, he thought to himself, except his father didn't bother to leave a note.

"I'm not Jackie," Pepper said gently, "so if you love me, why can't you tell me, just once?"

"Because I don't trust you, Pep."

"You don't trust me?!" she exclaimed with hurt and disbelief. "We're partners. We're supposed to trust each other with our lives."

Bill sadly shook his head. "I trust you with my life, Pepper. I just don't trust you with my heart."

"How can you say that?

"You know, in some ways, you remind me a lot of Jackie. Just when I think things are going good with us, you leave me to go find yourself."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, offended by being compared to the woman who had broken his heart and left him flat.

He counted on his fingers while he recited, "Dean Hopkins, Turk Allison, Rick Matteo… Rick was a good friend of mine for god sake."

Pepper saw what he was getting at and sucked in her breath. "I never slept with Turk or Rick."

Bill shrugged, "It was only a matter of time. Jesus, Pep, Rick wanted to marry you. And, you certainly can't claim you never slept with Dean, can you? Can you understand how humiliating it is to watch you fall for another man? Do you know what the past few weeks have done to my pride? Being grateful for every second you've given me, knowing you're going to leave me for Dean? I'm like a stray dog happy for table scraps. I'm just good ole Bill, your old standby, always around when you need him, willing to wait on the shelf when you don't. But this time when you go, you won't be back, and I don't know how I'm supposed to live with that." He could get over his father. He could get over Jackie. He could not get over Pepper, not in this lifetime or the next.

"Dean is an important part of my past. Please try to understand. Dean and I were going to get married...I mean, I thought we were...and when he came back, it was like my destiny was waiting to be fulfilled. I felt like I had to try… Bill, next year, in September, I'll turn forty."

"So?" he asked, mystified by what her age had to do with anything.

"So, I need to feel like I'm moving forward, moving toward something. I need something more than a warm body to lie down next to after a drink at Vinnie's. I don't want us to only be good friends who also happen to sleep together. I'm getting older, and I feel like life is passing me by. I don't want to turn fifty and realize I have nothing to show for the past ten years, nothing to show for my life."

"That's all I am to you, a friendly face and a warm body?"

"No," she cried, "you're my home, you're my heart, but you don't act like you to want to be. All you had to say is _don't go_ , and I would have never left with Dean, but you didn't say a word. You just let me go. "

"Pepper, I don't have anything to offer you. That's why I let you go. I can't give you the things Dean can. I'm just a big dumb cop, and all I'll ever be is a big dumb cop. I'm never going to make chief. I doubt I'll make captain. I'll never be able to afford a penthouse like Dean or buy you a big diamond ring." He raised his outstretched arms in a helpless gesture, indicating himself and his plain apartment. "What you see is what you get."

"What I see is what I want. Bill, no matter what, I always come home to you. It's always you and me in the end. Doesn't that tell you something? Marrying me isn't necessarily a requirement, but I need you to want to grow with me. You have to be in this with me for the long haul. Do you understand I'm trying to say?"

Bill picked up the moonstone ring. He put it on the end of his finger and watched it shimmer, remembering how it looked on his grandmother's wrinkled but still capable hand. His grandparents had only been married ten years when his grandfather was killed in World War I, but his grandmother had fiercely loved her husband until the day she died. She had never taken off the ring, and when she decided to give it to Bill, it was almost impossible to get it off her finger.

"When I said this isn't an engagement ring, I wasn't being strictly truthful. The truth is, this was my grandmother's, my Italian grandmother's, wedding ring. My grandfather was never able to afford a real engagement ring or wedding band." He chuckled, "My grandfather won this in a poker game. As soon as the game was over, he ran straight over to my grandmother's house to propose. It happened to be three o'clock in the morning. Her father mistook him for a prowler and almost shot him. Anyway, after my grandmother found out…found out she didn't have much time, she gave the ring to me. She made me promise I would give it to la donna del mio cuore, the woman of my heart."

"Did you give it to Jackie?" Pepper asked, hoping Bill hadn't given her ring to another woman.

"No, I intended to give it to her, but somehow, I never got around to it. When we started talking marriage, Jackie already had the kind of ring she wanted in mind. She wanted something she could show off to her friends. I knew this ring wasn't it. After we were married, the timing never seemed right. I guess I knew deep down she wasn't the woman of my heart. Some smart cop I was, overlooking such a glaring clue that we should have never gotten married. Pepper, you're la donna del mio cuore, and you always will be. I want you to have the ring even though you're marrying Dean. You never have to wear it if you don't want to, but I could never give it to anyone else."

"Bill, I'm not going to marry Dean. I can't. I know I wouldn't have gone through with it even if you hadn't been shot. He was some unfinished business I needed to settle, a ghost from my past I needed to put to rest. I've been putting off telling you, but I'm flying to New York the day after tomorrow. I need to end it in person. Pack up my stuff and come home."

Bill's heart leapt with relief. "It's really over with Dean?"

"Yes, I promise, it's over. I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry for all the times I hurt you. Bill, I'm in love with you, only you. Always you. Do you believe me?"

He studied her, searched her face and her eyes. "Yeah, I believe you."

"Then prove it." Pepper had to hear him say he loves her.

Despite the pain it caused him, Bill knelt down on one knee and took her hand. "Pepper, I love you. You're it for me. You've been all I wanted since the day I met you. There will never be anyone else. I want you to be my wife. Will you marry me?"

At the last second, Pepper remembered not to hurl herself at him. Instead, she knelt down beside him, took his face in her hands, and looked deeply into his eyes. "I love you, William Crowley. Yes, I'll marry you."

They made love next to the Christmas tree for a second time, Bill whispering he loved her again and again.

 _ **PWPWPWPWPWPWPWPW**_

On January 2nd, with butterflies in his stomach, Bill rode the elevator up to his office. He had been off the job nearly two months, but with everything that had happened, it seemed more like two years. He stepped off the elevator, took a deep cleansing breath, and told himself going back to work was like riding a bicycle. It would all come back to him. As he crossed the corridor, he tried to disguise his limp, but realizing he could never keep it up, he stopped trying to cover it. When he entered the office, he was greeted with a burst of cheers and applause. A huge 'Welcome Back Crowley' banner hung on the wall.

"Thanks, everybody," Bill beamed, grinning from ear to ear, the nervousness instantly vanishing. "I appreciate everything you did for me…The blood donations, the cards, the prayers, the houseplant, which by the way, is still alive. I'm so grateful for it all, and I'm so grateful to be back." He dabbed at his misty eyes with his knuckle. Then, in his gruffest Sgt. Crowley voice he barked, "Now, get back to work."

Bill poured himself a cup of coffee and went into his office. The mountain of paperwork on his desk listed perilously. Was he the only one who actually did anything around here? The top file marked _Santiago, Gabriel_ immediately caught his attention. Narcotics was undoubtedly after Santiago, too. He wondered bitterly if this would end in another deadly shootout between Santiago and the Narcs and the CCU because of some incompetently thrown together plan. Not on his watch, he vowed. The Santiago file cried out to him, demanding his attention, and Bill felt the weight of Cranston's and Valero's deaths on his shoulders. Ignoring it all for the time being, he drank the coffee, which tested his gag reflex, and surveyed the squad room through the blinds. Pepper turned from her desk, flashed him a broad smile, and gave him a thumbs up. Bill saluted her with his coffee mug, and she discreetly puckered her lips and blew him a kiss.

Crowley picked up the Santiago file, leaned out his office door, and yelled, "Pepper, Pete, Joe get in here."

 _THE END_

 _No copyright infringement intended._


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